


Trigger

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angstshipping - Freeform, Gemshipping, M/M, Thiefshipping, tornshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marik seeks out Bakura in Domino City, he only intended on killing some time. He never expected reoccurring nightmares of his initiation. He never expected facing Zorc Necrophades in a Shadow Game. Most of all, he never expected falling in love. [Tornshipping: divided into moments of Thiefshipping, Angstshipping, & Gemshipping].</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***AN: Beta'd by SuperSteffy. If you're ever in the mood for IC, well written, fluffy pwp, Thiefshipping one shots, then go check out her account on fanfiction net.***
> 
> *** DISCLAIMER***
> 
> "Ladies and gentlemen  
> Welcome to the disclaimer  
> That's right, the disclaimer  
> This American apple pie institution  
> Known as parental discretion  
> Will cleanse any sense of innuendo or sarcasm  
> From the (story) that might actually make you think  
> And will also insult your intelligence at the same time.  
> So protect your family,  
> This (fanfic) contains explicit depictions  
> Of things which are real.  
> These real things are commonly known as life.  
> So, if it sounds sarcastic, don't take it seriously.  
> If it sounds dangerous,  
> Do not try this at home or at all.  
> And if it offends you, just don't (read) it." ~The Offspring, Disclaimer
> 
> "Real things" that includes bad words, adult content of the male/male variety, and acknowledgment (and some details) of Marik's and Bakura traumatic childhoods. The title, Trigger, refers to the term "trauma trigger" because of some of Marik's flashbacks. This is an alternate ending fic that focuses and trauma recovery, but don't worry, I'll just ruin it for you now and tell you that Marik "doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time," wait, wrong story, oh well let's just get on with *this* story . . . ***

When Bakura answered the door, he did not expect to see Marik, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping without patience against the hallway floor. Marik turned to look at Bakura, narrowing his eyes, and instead of greeting him, asked. "Why did it take you so long to open the door?"

Bakura snorted, stepping aside as Marik barged into the apartment. "Well, look who came to visit. I thought you were off to live happily-ever-after, since the heroic Pharaoh rescued you from darkness."

Marik's hands curled into fists. "They went back to the tomb. Ishizu kept insisting there's one more duty for us to fulfill before we start our new lives." Marik stared at the sofa to his right. "It's not like I want to keep running away from my family, but I'll be damned if I'm ever going back underground."

Bakura frowned. "So you came here? How did you even know I'd been reunited with my Host?" Bakura stopped, the answer to his question apparent. He glared at Marik. "I thought you cut all the mental strings to your puppets when you forfeited the Rod to the Pharaoh?"

"Why would you think that?" Marik grinned, his true grin and not his fake, Namu smile. "Never hurts to have a contingency plan. Don't you agree, Bakura? Besides, Rishid knows all my usual haunts, but he wouldn't think to look for me here."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest. "What makes you think you're welcome here?"

"Didn't you miss me?" Marik asked, stepping close to Bakura.

Bakura stepped back as Marik walked forward until Bakura caught the couch and fell, landing hard onto the cushions. Marik crawled into his lap, raising his hands to hold each side of Bakura's face.

"Stop fooling around." Bakura jerked his head away from Marik's grasp.

"No." Marik gripped Bakura's chin between his thumb and pointer finger, bringing Bakura's face close enough to steal a kiss.

Bakura bit Marik's lower lip. Marik slapped him and pulled away. "What the fuck, Bakura?"

"You're not seducing me into letting you stay here."

"You decided I could stay the moment you opened the door and saw me. Now, I'm just settling in."

"You're also not waltzing in here and taking charge of things."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Marik laughed.

"Nor are you mooching off of my Host for free while you hide."

"Noble words coming from you, parasite. How much rent do you give your  _landlord_?" Marik snorted. "I can pay the rent. I have plenty of money from running the Ghouls."

A disapproving expression shadowed Bakura's face. He stared at Marik for half a minute. "Your siblings are loyal to the Pharaoh."

Marik's jaw clenched into a hard line. "Yes they are, but I'm not. I can't blame him for something I did, but that doesn't mean I'm becoming his dog and going back underground. Not for him, not for the prophecy on my back, not even for Ishizu. You still want your revenge? Take it. I won't stop you. Just leave me out of it."

"You better not let the Pharaoh or his friends see you."

"Why the hell would I? That's as good as letting my sister see me."

Marik shifted to stand up, but Bakura grabbed his waist and held him still. Marik looked down at Bakura.

Bakura's expression softened. "How long do you plan on staying?"

The grin crept back onto Marik's face. "I suppose until it's time to perform whatever stupid duty Ishizu thinks we still need to do."

Bakura snorted. "How will you know when that time comes if you avoid her?"

"If it's destiny, then it'll happen anyway, won't it?"

"I suppose so."

"So." Marik leaned forward, his nose grazing the tip Bakura's nose. "Did you miss me?"

"No."

"Do you want me?"

"No."

Marik held the sides of Bakura's face again, kissing him, and this time Bakura opened his mouth and kissed Marik in return. Marik's fingers slid down to Bakura's throat and then behind his neck and into his white hair.

Bakura growled and bucked his hips against Marik, sliding his tongue in and out of Marik's mouth. Marik ran his tongue along Bakura's bottom lip and pulled his hair. They slid off of the couch and onto the floor, Marik straddling Bakura's hips and grinding into him. Bakura grabbed Marik's waist, holding Marik in place and pushing his own body up in three hard thrusts of his hips. The teasing movement incited a small gasp from Marik.

Marik pulled back. His hands clasped the hem of his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head before tossing it onto the floor. His butter yellow hair sifted over his copper shoulders. Bakura reached up and combed his pale fingers through the yellow strands.

"You remind me of the desert," Bakura said, his mind wandering in a place that existed thousands of years ago. He traced his fingers down Marik's bare chest, curving his touch around Marik's pectoral muscles and lower to the obliques, and then down to Marik's Adonis belt. "You remind me of a silo of wheat; of a wild cat that hunts at dusk."

Marik pushed his mouth against Bakura's and they resumed their kissing.

Bakura's hands tugged at Marik's belt and then his fingers fumbled with the zipper of Marik's pants. Marik raised his ass to allow Bakura to remove his pants. He slid his hands under Bakura's shirt and lifted it over Bakura's head.

Marik licked along Bakura's chest, pushing the Ring aside and outlining the scars below Bakura's sternum. "Seems you've damaged your residence. You're not going to get your deposit back from your landlord."

"It was necessary."

Marik fingered another jagged, white scar below Bakura's shoulder. "So was this one."

Bakura nodded.

Marik held Bakura's left hand, rubbing a final scar. "What about this one?"

"Also necessary."

"Would your host agree?"

Bakura smirked. "My Host would brag that he won that game."

Marik raised an eyebrow. He kissed the scar on Bakura's hand. He pressed the hand against his chest, the white complexion more pallid when contrasted to Marik's almond colored skin. "Do you want me?"

"No."

Marik stripped Bakura's pants away from his body, rubbing the tip of Bakura's penis and kissing below Bakura's naval. "I won't do anything until you ask."

"I don't want to play games."

"It's not a game."

Bakura stared at Marik, droplets of sweat beading just below the yellow hair line. Marik stared back, his lilac eyes steady, any lust or desire he may or may not have was buried behind of wall of control. Bakura watched as Marik continued to tease his hand over Bakura's penis. His eyes never left Bakura, waiting for him to capitulate and ask for more.

In the back of Bakura's mind he heard Ryou whimpering soft, greedy mewls. His Host wanted to take control of his body and beg Marik, but he allowed the Spirit to pace the situation without argument. Bakura could wait, his mind still half lost in the forgotten memories that Marik evoked in him from a life that felt like a dream. River silt, hot wind, reeds against his ankles and calves – he let these memories filter over to Ryou's consciousness in order to calm him.

He pulled Marik back on top of him, sucking on Marik's bottom lip. Marik rubbed their bodies together, sweat tickling the fine hairs on their legs and stomachs. They kissed until both were panting into each other's mouths. Their hearts, trying to reach each other, pushed against the cages of their ribs.

"Marik," Bakura whispered.

"What?" he sneered.

"There's a bottle of lube underneath the cushions."

"Oh really?" Marik chuckled, lifting up the cushion and finding a stash of plugs, beads, lubrication, and a few sordid comics. "Shame on you Bakura. Does your sweet little host know about all this?"

Bakura snorted, amused.

Marik glanced over his shoulder. "All this is his?"

Bakura didn't answer.

Marik dropped the cushion and turned to face Bakura, watching his eyes, trying to read the answer to his question in Bakura's face. A surprised look overtook Marik's face, replaced with a scandalous smile.

"You use them together." Marik leaned closer. "Is he aware of what's going on now?"

"That'd turn you on, wouldn't it? The thought of manipulating two at once."

"Perhaps." Marik shrugged as he poured the lubrication into his hand.

A slight trace of want broke past Marik's indifferent features as he glided his slick hand up and down Bakura's shaft. Bakura bit his bottom lip, muffling the grunts escaping out of his throat as Marik's hand moved soft and light over Bakura's phallus.

Bakura licked his lips. "Fuck me."

Marik grinned. "You never asked."

"No, I never did."

Marik forced coated fingers into Bakura's asshole. Bakura hissed at Marik's haphazard foreplay. "Use more lube."

"Ask me nicely."

Bakura sat up and took the bottle in his hand, coating his anal opening. He glared at Marik. "Why does everything have to be a power trip with you?"

Marik leaned to the side with an amused expression on his face as he watched Bakura prep himself. "Does it make you feel insecure?"

"It makes everything we do unnecessarily difficult."

"You're just not used to sharing control with anyone."

"And you're not used to having to deal with someone that isn't a mindless doll."

"Bakura, this is getting dull."

"Then fuck me."

"Ask me to."

"If you want it, take it."

Marik pushed Bakura back to the floor, lying on top of him. "Become a thief like you? Take anything that catches my eye?"

Bakura stared at Marik. "Steal what you need."

"Who says I need you?" Marik asked.

"You always have," Bakura said.

Marik snorted.

"Marik." Bakura's lips trembled as he exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. "I want you inside me."

Marik dragged his hips back and arched them forward, pushing himself inside Bakura. He doused his cock with a second coat of lubricant and swallowed a moan as he moved in and out of Bakura's ass. Marik's earrings swung like pendulums with his momentum as did strands of his hair.

"What does it feel like," Marik asked, "to have me inside you?"

Bakura looked at his face. "It burns."

Marik's body language stiffened, his thrusts slowed, almost stopped. "Do I need to use more lube?"

A crooked smiled marred Bakura's face. "You sound concerned."

"Bakura," Marik growled his name.

"You're thick; it can't be helped. Fuck me, Marik. I'm not going to ask again."

"You never did ask." Marik shot one last squirt from the bottle along the circumference of Bakura's asshole and then pushed inside him harder.

Bakura's breaths left his mouth with hot, ragged puffs of air. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Who said you could close your eyes? I want you to look at me the entire time." Marik spoke the words like a challenge – one he didn't think Bakura could complete.

Bakura opened his eyes, glaring at Marik's purple irises at first, but after a moment his stare softened. The longer they looked at each other, the more their defenses faded and their desire revealed itself on their faces. Bakura curled up into the crook of Marik's neck, panting against Marik's throat as he felt his climax building deep in his belly. Marik reached down and stroked Bakura, transforming his pants into whines not unlike the noises Ryou made in the shared spaces of their mind.

"I'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cumming." Bakura closed his eyes and gasped as his body shook and semen splashed thick onto his pale stomach. When finished, his body relaxed against Marik's shoulder.

"My turn," Marik breathed into his ear, thrusting deeper.

Bakura winced, clenching his teeth as Marik's girth pushed inside him. He rode out the pain, wanting it, wanting to feel Marik climax inside him.

"Fuck, Bakura, fuck."

They both collapsed to the carpet, soaked in sweat and breathing hard.

* * *

Ryou woke up shivering. He opened his eyes and realized he lay on the floor with Marik beside him. Ryou held his breath as a pleasant spasm shook his body when he remembered why he was laying naked on the floor. Ryou looked around for a moment, staring at the texture of the ceiling and noticing a cobweb in the top right corner that needed swept. He searched his mind for the Spirit, but the other consciousness slept. Ryou stood and stumbled to the bathroom, his body sore in a way that he didn't mind. He used the toilet and cleaned himself up then went to his bedroom. Pulling the comforter and pillows off of the bed, Ryou walked back to the living room.

He spread the blanket over Marik, tucking one of the two pillows under Marik's head. Marik grunted and accepted the pillow, adjusting it under his neck while still sleeping. Ryou sat down on the carpet, covering his lap with the other half of his comforter. He watched Marik sleep, content to sit and examine the gentle rise and fall of Marik's chest as he breathed. After a minute, Ryou reached out his hand and touched Marik's lips. When Marik stayed asleep Ryou moved his fingertips across Marik's face. He traced Marik's earlobe, twirling one of his earrings before letting the jewelry fall back into Marik's hair. Ryou ghosted his fingers over Marik's arms, chest, and then back to his face, as if trying to engrave the sensation of Marik's body into his own skin.

Unless the Spirit intentionally sealed Ryou away in their subconscious, Ryou perceived experiences as the Spirit perceived them, but there was something different about feeling Marik's body for himself,  _choosing_  where his hands traveled instead of suggesting. Marik sighed at the touches and Ryou removed his hand before Marik woke up. Laying on his side, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Marik's.

"I wish I could help you." Ryou whispered as he kissed the corner of Marik's mouth. "Not by getting stabbed and not by being a pawn in a game. I wish I could help you here." Ryou touched two fingers to the center of Marik's chest.

He kissed Marik a final time. Marik, still asleep, slung his arm around Ryou. Ryou sighed and nuzzled against Marik's chest. Ryou savored each inhalation he pulled into his chest, each breath laced with the strong, warm scent of Marik's body.

* * *

Marik never had nightmares before, not since he created a darker representation of himself as a child, but when that shadowed reflection left his mind, the nightmares began. Marik couldn't move, his wrist and ankles bound as he lay on his stomach on a stone altar. Marik couldn't scream, his teeth grinding against a bit in his mouth as a fire-heated knife split open his skin. He panicked, thrashing to escape the pain that tore through his body and into his mind. His father had only carved the top of one wing, none of the feathers. Out of the corner of his eye, Marik saw the knife slice into torchlight. Marik's father held the knife in the flame to heat before he continued cutting.

_Why won't someone stop this, why won't someone stop this, why won't anybody stop this?_

Marik screamed, the sound waking him. His eyes snapped open, but for a brief moment he only saw a knife in torch-flame. He jerked up, the blanket around him kept him from moving and Marik clawed the cover off of his body.

"Marik." Bakura held his shoulders.

Marik looked into Bakura's face, full recognition restoring his usual calm.

"Let go of me." Marik brushed Bakura's hands away from his shoulders.

"They happen," Bakura said.

Marik knew he meant nightmares, but didn't want to admit it. Instead, he looked down at the blanket crumpled beside him. "A blanket?"

"My Host."

A single, humorless laugh exhaled from Marik's mouth as he stood up and headed for the bathroom. He helped himself to Bakura's shower and toiletries, reminding himself to purchase clothing since he'd left without packing, saying goodbye, or even thinking about what he was doing or why. Marik left the bathroom wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, and went to the kitchen.

He saw Bakura out of the corner of his eye typing on a laptop, at least he thought he saw Bakura, but when he looked, he saw startled brown eyes looking back. There was a flicker, and the eyes hardened, the hair licked up, and Marik realized it'd been Bakura's vessel.

Marik smirked. "Protecting your precious host from me, are you?"

Bakura chuckled to himself. "It's better for everyone at the moment."

Marik ignored Bakura and opened the cupboards, frowning. He checked the fridge and his frown changed into a scowl. "Bakura, don't you ever feed the poor boy?"

Bakura looked up from the laptop screen. "I forget."

"To eat?"

"That it's easy to get food."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Marik asked with half interest as he retrieved his clothes from the floor and dressed.

"When I was small there was drought," Bakura said, staring at the beginning of an Egyptian diorama sitting on the table beside him. "The silos emptied and people starved."

He spoke as if far away, as if he didn't realize he spoke out loud. "I remember a boy who lived in my village. We would race and play games, but without enough food he grew weak. His stomach swelled, I would swat the flies away from his face because he couldn't do it himself. Then he died and his mother wailed and his father had to carry me home because I wouldn't let go of his body."

Bakura touched a specific hut on the model, his hand drifted to another one. "That night my father gathered the village for a meeting. All the men left and, three days later, returned with metal I'd never seen that held the light of the sun in its color. After that there was food again."

"Your village became tomb robbers?" Marik asked, he sat down on the couch, staring at Bakura.

"They were builders." A bitter smile graced Bakura's lips. "My father probably helped lay the foundation of the tomb in which you grew up. But we were a small village on the outskirts, so when the drought came, the Pharaoh did not help us or any of the outlying villages, though they kept stored grain in the city for droughts. Nor would he spare soldiers to protect us from raids. So we stole what we needed and fought when we needed."

Marik stood and went to him, taking the laptop out of his lap and straddling Bakura's legs.

"Marik, what are you doing?"

"I don't know." He shook his head and touched Bakura's cheek.

"I'd forgotten all of this, until now." Bakura shrugged his shoulders. "Not that it matters. My village is dead; only my hate survived. "

"I know."

Marik kissed him. He felt Bakura's hands press against his chest to push him away, but Marik laced his fingers with Bakura's, not wanting to break the kiss. He couldn't quantify his reason why or explain it, he simply felt driven to continue kissing Bakura's mouth – soft, pliable, gentle kisses. Marik felt a dull ache in his chest that deepened as Bakura squeezed Marik's hands and submitted to him. Something teetered in Marik's mind, like a brick about to tumble from atop its wall, and the sensation terrified him.

He stood up and walked away. "I'm going to that market across the street and buying some bento. Back in five."

Bakura snorted. "Tease."

Marik lingered by the door. "Go back to writing in your diary."

"It's for a game. One not as simple as cards, so probably too complicated for you, Marik."

"Yes, I think I've already seen some of the pieces you and your host use for your games under the sofa cushions."

Marik's taunts didn't phase Bakura. He grinned and gestured to the couch. "If you're nice, maybe one day you can watch."

Marik smiled, the idea did appeal to him, and it gave him something pleasant to think about as he went to the market. He choose prepackaged bento for their dinner and gathered a few staples, not trusting Bakura to stock his pantry for a guest. When he returned, the sun rusted the streets in copper light, changing the world to a nightmare of fire and carnage.

Inside, Bakura's vessel sat in front of the Egypt model and painted a small figurine of a horse. He muttered to himself, or rather to the spirit haunting his mind and body. He closed his mouth when he saw Marik standing and watching him.

"I'm almost done, then I'll switch."

"I'm living here now," Marik announced, watching Bakura's host's expression to see how he'd handle the news.

Marik expected him to look uncomfortable, but Ryou didn't pay attention to Marik at all, his eyes and hands focused on the last few brush strokes on the equine's back flank. When he finished he set the toy down with a satisfied grin before acknowledging Marik. "You brought dinner. I think that's a much nicer way to move in than putting my friends into comas." Ryou scowled at the ring around his neck while he said the second sentence.

Marik stared at him, recognizing the fact that he spoke to Bakura, but not really understanding what they spoke of.

Ryou huffed at the ring. "Immersive gaming indeed."

Marik watched the familiar mirage-like flicker as Bakura reclaimed his host's body. Bakura sat in the chair, chuckling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah, when the world ends  
> Collect your things you're coming with me  
> When the world ends  
> You tuckle up yourself with me  
> And watch it as the stars disappear to nothing  
> The day the world is over  
> We'll be lying in bed"
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

They weren't friends and they didn't get along. That's what the Spirit and his Host kept telling themselves and each other. If they were close, if they acknowledged a bond existed, if they spoke it and made it real, either Ryou would lose his love for his friends or the Spirit would lose his hatred for his enemies. Neither one could bear that thought so they swallowed their feelings and rarely spoke though they shared their thoughts. Thoughts were safe, secrets and fantasies hiding in their mind, but words were too dangerous.

But when you're used to being alone, as both of them were, and then find yourself interdependent to another consciousness that shared all your favorite passions, it was impossible not to interact. Bakura sat in the chair and laughed and Ryou, though he pretended to be cross, laughed with him from his space in their mind.

Marik handed Bakura a plastic tray with rice, vegetables, and a hard boiled egg molded to look like a bunny. "You . . . weren't this close to your host in Battle City, what changed?"

Bakura stopped laughing and took the tray out of Marik's hand, but didn't eat. He thought about the question. He'd manipulated Ryou into putting the Ring back on when they were on Pegasus' Island, but had kept his word and helped his Host's friends escape the cave. Then they'd saved Tristan and Mokuba, Ryou wanting to help and Bakura wanting an alibi for after he acquired the Eye. Then there had been the Pharaoh's vessel's game with Otogi. Again, ulterior motives forced Bakura to play a supportive role, but Ryou focused on the results, not the motives, and further lowered his guard.

Afterward, they began working on Monster World campaigns together, not admitting it was together because that would be something friends did, but the true change had been Battle City – more precisely, Marik. Marik made of gold and copper and amethyst, beauty enhanced by cruelty, cruelty hiding the damage inside him. Liken the world to an RPG and everyone in it would be NPC's, existing to provide information or initiate quests. Even Ryou's friends, though Ryou refused to admit it, existed for plot advancement. Jounichi shouting  _welcome to Coneria_  and Honda muttering  _mountains are nice, this is the life_ , over and over, nothing new, pass them by and find Yugi for a new quest. Marik was different. He was real like them, a character you could add to your party. But Bakura failed in his Shadow Game against Marik's dark half, an utter fucking 99 fumble that sent both his and Ryou's souls to the Shadows, and when it was all over there was nothing left to do but go back to Domino City.

Bakura looked at Marik and snorted. "Nothing changed. I've ruined his life and he hates me for it, but I won't stop until I've had my revenge."

Marik's eyes flicked to the sofa and back to Bakura. He used chopsticks to bite into a piece of onigiri before saying, "that was an awful lot of sex toys for people that hate and use each other."

"I'm not sure about that, Marik." Bakura smiled at him, a hungry, sultry smile. "I hate you and you're using me and we'll go through all of those toys and perhaps more before your stay is over."

Marik sat in Bakura's lap, straddling Bakura as he'd done before going to the store. He used his chopsticks to push the last bite of rice into Bakura's mouth. Marik stole a piece of burdock from Bakura's tray and bit into it, feeding the other half to Bakura. Bakura ran his tongue across the dark orange flesh of the vegetable before chewing.

Without thinking about it, Bakura broke into the soft, white flesh of the egg with his chopsticks, eating a piece of the white and giving the yolk to Marik. As they fed each other, Bakura tried to rationalize their actions in his mind, or at least figure an excuse for them, but there was nothing. They did it because it was fun. The comfortable weight of Marik on Bakura's lap felt pleasant. The white flash of teeth as Marik bit into a slice of daikon or carrot made Bakura want those teeth piercing into his throat. The nimble flicks of Marik's fingers as he maneuvered his chopsticks reminded Bakura of the way Marik stroked him that afternoon.

Bakura felt drunk, his face warm and flushed. Marik surely noticed, but he didn't taunt Bakura, his own eyes bright and deeper purple than normal, as if intoxicated himself. They finished their meal and set their trays and chopsticks aside. Marik reached out and glided his fingertips over Bakura's face as Bakura held Marik's waist with both hands. They leaned their mouths close together and pulled away, sometimes brushing their lips together but never fully kissing. Bakura felt his erection grow at an odd angle in his pants and had to push Marik away for a moment to readjust himself.

Marik slipped his hand down Bakura's pants while he was shifting, guiding Bakura's hand over his cock until Bakura closed his eyes and gasped. His teasing finished, Marik pulled away and stood up. "Do you have any good books I can borrow?"

Bakura shook his head and exhaled. "Look under the couch."

"I said good books, not garbage."

" _Maiden Rose_  is actually quite good."

"I'm sure."

"Look around yourself." Bakura snorted and stood to get his pajamas and take a shower. Once out of the shower, he went to his room and noticed Marik laying naked in bed and reading one of Bakura's Host's paperbacks.

"What are you doing?" Bakura asked.

"Reading."

"Get out of my bed."

Marik smiled and looked over the pages of his novel. "Our bed, this is a one bedroom apartment, where else would I sleep?"

"The couch."

"Your den of debauchery? No thank you. Sleep there yourself if you want to, but I'm staying right here."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "There are more toys under the mattress, you know."

"You sick, fucking, perverts." Marik smiled, licking a finger to turn the page.

Bakura went to the other side of the bed. "Just because I let you fuck me doesn't mean we're going to share the same bed like a married couple."

Marik laughed, marking his place in the story by dogearing the page and setting the book on Ryou's nightstand. "I'm trying to picture the look on my sister's face – if I brought you home as a wife."

Bakura ground his teeth at the statement. "Marik, get the fuck out."

Marik reached over and grabbed the waistband of Bakura's pants. "Pajama bottoms? That's a little precious, don't you think?"

"Out."

"You should try sleeping naked, much more comfortable."

"Out of  _my_  bed."

"Your host's bed. Here, let me help you out of these pants."

Marik pulled Bakura onto the mattress, untying the string to his pants and pulling them down. Bakura struggled, to be difficult, and Marik pinned his wrists over his head. Once his pants were off, Bakura wrapped both legs around Marik, running his toes along Marik's calves and up his outer thighs.

"See? More comfortable naked, right?" Marik pressed his body against Bakura's.

"Better fuck me into exhaustion or I'm kicking you out of my room when we're finished."

"Trust me, when I'm finished you won't let me out of your arms."

"Bold talk, Marik Ishtar, how will you back it up?"

"It's a good thing you know my name, Bakura – you're about to be screaming it."

Bakura grunted and looked away to prevent a smile from curving up his lips, blaming his Host for the impulse. Marik tugged at Bakura's left nipple with his teeth, flicking his tongue as an afterthought. Bakura squeezed his thighs together, pressing Marik hard in between his legs and thrusting his hips up to tease Marik. Bakura adjusted his legs. Holding them around Marik's waist, he felt the lowest segment of textured flesh from Marik's back against his knee, but refused to lower his legs as he pushed himself against Marik. He needed,  _needed_ , as much contact between their bodies as possible. He needed it because of his Host's desire for Marik. He needed it because of his own desire for Marik. He needed it because the more Marik touched him – either hard thrusting or soft kissing – and the more Marik studied him – with eyes dressed in Kohl and unconfessed torment – the more Bakura remembered from his life. He remembered the feeling of new-woven flax cloth, the smell of morning air in the desert, the taste of figs stolen from a market stall. Fragments of memory resurrected themselves in the back of his mind as Marik's tongue drew patterns on Bakura's chest, and the memories made Bakura feel like a long-worn manacle had been removed from his wrists.

Bakura wiggled his arms out of Marik's hold, turning on his stomach and reaching under the mattress for another bottle of lube.

"I thought you were joking about having another stash." Marik took the bottle and separated Bakura.

Bakura sucked in a hissing breath, his entrance still sore from the afternoon.

"Do you want me?" Marik asked as he squeezed the gel over Bakura's asshole and guided his pointer finger inside.

"Marik, it's late. Let's drop our usual banter. I just want to be fucked."

Marik added more lubrication and two more fingers. "I can't let you get bored."

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but realized Marik wouldn't quit until Bakura submitted to him in some way. He changed tactics, arching his back and riding his ass into Marik's three fingers. Bakura lowered his lids and allowed some of Ryou's soft gasps and cries to escape his mouth, effectively casting a spell to detour Marik's thoughts away from who controlled whom because the moment wasn't about control, it was about need. He and his Host shared the same body and the same white hair, they possessed powerful  _heka_ and owned souls strong as gods, but gods needed a priest. Bakura looked over his shoulder at Marik, who'd once wielded a priest's scepter in the form of the Millennium Rod.

Marik swallowed as Bakura stared at him, his fingers faltering for a moment before renewing their task. They both gasped, their desire for each other bleeding through their usual emotional armor. Marik added a third round of lubricant to Bakura and doused his cock as well. He held his shaft near the head, only pressing two inches of himself into Bakura.

Bakura ground his teeth, his sore body protesting Marik's advances. Marik moved slow, keeping the brunt of his length outside and teasing with his head against Bakura's asshole.

"More," Bakura demanded.

Marik slid his hand another two inches down his shaft and allowed himself to move deeper inside Bakura. After a few minutes, Marik released his hand and grabbed Bakura's hips. Marik groaned and pushed inside as far as he could. Bakura sighed as the pressure from Marik's cock pressed into him and enticed the nerves along his perineum and below his shaft.

Marik held Bakura's ribs, hands slippery with excess lube. "In the tomb everything was tan and brown and dark," Marik spoke in between thrusts and pants. "The walls, the snakes, our smocks, it all blurred together like mud. You never saw color. You never saw anything different, like purple, or beautiful, like pure white."

"Did you just call me beautiful?"

"Why not? You called me a silo of wheat."

"Yes," Bakura grunted, out of breath from Marik's body slamming into his. "A long, erect silo, filled with wheat."

"And are you the white sands in which I'll plant the wheat?"

"Yes, but nothing will ever grow."

They both laughed at their horrible pun, laughed even as they fucked. Bakura felt his Host rolling his eyes for a moment but Marik licked along their spine and the laughing stopped and Bakura shut his eyes and gasped. Marik leaned forward, left arm wrapped around Bakura's stomach and right hand toying with his balls. Bakura tried to make the noises coming from his mouth sound more like grunts and less like content whimpers but he was having trouble with it.

Hand still greased with lube, Marik gripped Bakura's shaft and pulled with a long, slow, upward stride of his hand. He pushed down in the same manner, his hand moving slow and strong and his hips moving quick and agile.

"M-Marik," Bakura groaned the name.

"Yes, Bakura. Say my  _whole_  name. Call it out."

Bakura bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from complying, but he felt Marik quicken inside him, close to his own orgasm, close to losing control if only for seven seconds, and Bakura caved. He pulled his head back and shouted, "Marik. Marik. Yes, Marik. Marik Ishtar, come inside me."

Marik's rhythm peaked in its intensity. His fingers twitched as they held Bakura's sides. "Bakura, oh Bakura, Bakura, Bakura, I'm – I'm cum – I'm – oh, oh gods, oh gods!"

Hearing Marik lose control of himself as he quivered and collapsed on top of Bakura's body sent both he and his Host over edge. He grabbed himself, his hand over Marik's and finished the last few strokes to make himself ejaculate, his breathing erratic to the point of hyperventilation. Bakura dropped to the mattress, Marik still laying over his back.

"I didn't think . . . I never thought you'd actually say it."

Bakura stayed quiet, not trusting himself to speak as he reclaimed his breath.

Marik pulled out, and a soft noise gurgled in his throat. "Um, Bakura, I think you're bleeding."

Bakura already suspected; they'd had sex twice in one day and Bakura felt pleasant, but raw inside.

"I've bleed for you before," Bakura whispered.

"I was different, then. I-I don't want to see blood anymore."

_The part of him that dealt with that is gone, Bakura._

Bakura noted that his Host used his own name when he spoke as if it were the Spirit's name. He'd never done so before and Bakura wondered if he'd picked it up because of Marik. He stood up, taking Marik by the hand and pulling him to the bathroom. Marik stood under the bathroom light, oddly dazed as if his mind were somewhere else. Bakura wiped Marik clean with a towel and sat down on the toilet to examine himself. Only a small, bright splash of red soiled the white tissue paper in his hand. "I'm fine, Marik, you're over reacting." He washed and dried his hands and pulled Marik back to their bed.

Marik kept a faraway look on his face, as if maybe he was back in dark hallways of brown stone deep underground.

Bakura nudged Marik in the ribs, trying to call him back. "Well, I suppose a lay like that earns you a spot in my bed."

Marik blinked and looked at Bakura as if just realizing he was there. He grunted in response and lay against the pillows. "I'm going to have nightmares again tonight, aren't I?"

Bakura didn't expect the question. He thought about it for a moment. "Yes."

* * *

Ryou watched from inside his mind as the Spirit helped Marik ride out another nightmare. Marik lay in their arms, his face crumpled in pain. Marik jerked to a sitting position when he woke. "I'm going to vomit." He ran to their bathroom and gagged and spat over the water, but only spittle left his mouth.

The spirit stayed quiet and kept his distance, incapable of coping with the situation. Ryou also kept quiet, wanting to help but knowing kind words or encouragement would only serve to mock the torture Marik endured to create such nightmares. Marik stormed out of the bathroom. The Spirit took a shower to give Marik some time alone.

When they entered the living room, Marik looked up, his composure restored as if nothing happened. "I'm going out today. I like this shirt, but don't really want to wear it every day."

The Spirit shrugged. "I'll be gone as well. If you're going to be here for a while I don't want my Host's friends snooping around, so I'm going to let him pay them a visit today."

With this news Ryou grew excited. Spending time with Yugi was usually a bittersweet experience since Ryou never knew if the Spirit would cause trouble, but since the Spirit didn't want his friends to get suspicious, that meant a relaxing Sunday afternoon. Already showered and dressed, Ryou yanked control of his body away from the Spirit so he could go. He knew his friends spent Sunday mornings at Yugi's grandfather's game shop and wanted to meet them before they decided to go somewhere else for the afternoon.

Marik snorted when he noticed the switch. "So you heard that, did you? Does the little puppy get to play outside today?"

Ryou turned to look at Marik.

_He's testing you._

_Yes, I'm aware_. Ryou thought at the Spirit.

They usually didn't speak to each other, and the dialogue in his mind tingled. Marik strode up to Ryou, backing him up against the door. The Spirit tried to reclaim the body but Ryou stopped him, holding his gaze with Marik's and allowing Marik to lean close enough to Ryou's face that he felt the tickle of Marik's breath against his cheek.

"I'm fucking the Spirit in your Ring. Did you know that?"

Ryou opened his eyes wide as if shocked. His mouth dropped slightly. "You're what? But, but you're both boys!"

Marik blinked, whatever reaction he expected, (probably for Ryou to blush and mutter that he was aware of their relationship in a soft, nervous voice,) was definitely not the reaction Ryou gave him.

The Spirit laughed in Ryou's mind. Ryou couldn't keep a straight expression so he hid his face in his hands and turned away, allowing his long hair to drop over his shoulders and mask the soft shaking of his body as tears instead of giggles.

"And I was saving myself for marriage," Ryou said, his voice also shaking.

The Spirit's normal composure dropped into hysterics.

"Are . . . are you serious?" Marik asked.

Ryou couldn't maintain his ruse, the Spirit laughed too hard in his head. "No." He dropped his hands to his knees and laughed freely. "And yes I know you're sleeping together. I was fully conscious yesterday."

The two neat arches of Marik's eyebrows furrowed together as he frowned. "Goddammit, I don't believe I fell for that."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Ryou held his stomach, trying to hold in the laughter that threatened to burst through his navel. "I couldn't help it."

Marik pushed Ryou against the door.

Ryou sucked in a breath, his laughter gone, Ryou felt his face grow flush. "You're cute when you're pissed off, Marik."

Marik gritted his teeth. "You're as bad as Bakura in your own way."

"Well." Ryou straightened and removed Marik's hands away from his shirt. He looked at Marik for a moment before stealing a long, but more sloppy than he wanted it to be, kiss. "Bakura is  _my_  name."

He left before Marik could respond to the kiss or the banter.

The Spirit still chortled in their mind.  _You're not getting away with that. Just make sure he knows I had nothing to do with it._

_Oh no, if I go down with the ship, you're drowning with me. It's your fault he's here._

_Yes, because I sent him an invitation to come and stay._

They stopped. Silence filled their conjoined mind as they both realized they were too close to having a conversation. Ryou sighed and put his hands in his pockets as he walked to the game shop, stopping by a store to purchase something for breakfast.

When he reached Yugi's place, Ryou knocked on the back door. He knew they'd be sitting in the kitchen and playing card games. A minute later, Yugi's face appeared in the doorway. His eyes lit up when he saw Ryou. "Bakura? We haven't seen you in a while."

"Sorry." Ryou scratched behind his ear. "I've been kinda busy since school got out."

"Are you working?"

"No." Ryou smiled at the thought of he and the Spirit trying to make it through a workday without anyone getting murdered, or at least penalty-gamed. "I've just been focusing on a new Monster World campaign. I guess that's not a good reason to become a hermit. I'll try to be more social."

Jonouchi cringed. "You still  _play_  that game? How could you after everything we went through?"

Ryou thought the statement ironic coming from Jonouchi as he sat at the table with a deck of Duel Monster cards in his hands, but Ryou shrugged and smiled without giving a verbal reply.

"Come in and sit down." Yugi resumed playing cards with Jonouchi. He won, Jonouchi insisted on a rematch and lost to Yugi a second time. As they played the others made small talk. Ryou found the conversation mundane and had trouble paying attention. Instead, he daydreamed about the day before, the feeling of Marik's tongue on his skin and hands holding his hips. Not only did the daydreams serve to pass the time, but they distracted the Spirit. He crouched in the back of Ryou's mind, stressed and distrustful of Yugi as he watched the card game, expecting Yugi's Other self to appear. Ryou sighed, realizing he'd rather be at home, painting the stalls for the market place in his diorama.

"Earth to Ryou, are you home?" Honda waved his hand slow across Ryou's field of vision.

Ryou blinked back to the moment. "Sorry, my mind wandered off. What were you saying?"

Anzu smiled. "I think Bakura needs some fresh air."

"That's a good idea. Let's go outside and play basketball," Honda said.

"I don't know." Yugi winced at the thought. "Couldn't we just play Duel Monsters for a little while longer?"

"Yeah. I'm still polishing up my skills," Jonouchi agreed.

Anzu sighed. "You lose every game."

"That's why I need to keep playing."

Anzu stood, resting her hands on her hips. "Okay, it's two against two. Bakura your vote decides what we do."

"Um, me?"

"Yeah, basketball or card games?"

Ryou's body ached, especially where his legs joined his hips and his lower abdominal muscles, but he didn't have his cards and felt like his mind was going to shut down from boredom. "Uh, basketball, I guess?"

"Ah, Bakura." Jonouchi pouted.

Honda laughed and hooked his arm around Ryou's shoulders. "Quit complaining, Jonouchi, going outside won't kill you."

"No, this will be fun, too." Yugi smiled. Now that the decision was made he looked content with the idea.

They walked to a park and found an empty court. None of them were very good at the sport, which made Ryou feel better about all the shots he missed. His hair kept tucking under his arms and blowing into his face. Ryou clawed the white mess out of the way, but to no avail.

"Here." Anzu handed Ryou a hair tie.

"Thank you." He nodded and fastened his hair into a knot behind his head. Loose strands still scattered across the sides of his face, but the brunt of his hair held in the bun.

After that, he made more shots because his hair wasn't in his eyes. He and Honda played against Yugi and Jonouchi while Anzu cheered everyone on from the sidelines. He and Honda led by five points and Jonouchi began overreacting, as usual.

Honda cupped his hands around his mouth. "Are you going to talk about the game or play it, Jonouchi?"

"Play it, and I'm going to win!"

Honda laughed, dribbling the ball. He went for a shot, but Yugi intercepted it. Only, when Ryou looked, he realized it wasn't Yugi. The fine, white hairs on Ryou's neck pricked up and gooseflesh pinched his arms when the Spirit noticed the switch. The Pharaoh tossed the ball into the air and it swished into the net.

"Yes! Point for the Other Yugi," Jonouchi cheered.

"Isn't that kinda cheating?" Ryou asked.

_No, dear Host,_   _it's only cheating if we tried to play that way._

"They do everything together," Jonouchi said.

"Well, I guess it's okay." Honda shrugged, taking the ball off court and passing it to Ryou.

Ryou moved towards their goal. The Pharaoh tried to steal the ball again, his style of playing much more aggressive than Yugi's, but Ryou dodged him and scored two more points. With the Pharaoh's combative tactics and the adrenaline rushing through Ryou's blood because of the Spirit, the game became a showdown between the two of them. They kept matching each other, point for point, hardly giving the others a chance at the ball. When Jonouchi missed a shot and the ball fell back towards the court, Ryou and the Pharaoh both lunged for it. Ryou reached it first, but the Pharaoh pushed into him with his shoulder, knocking Ryou onto the cement court. He landed on his tailbone. A sharp pain stabbed up his spine, made worse by the fact that his body was still tender from Marik.

Ryou blacked out.

* * *

The Spirit acted on reflex. He wretched control of the body from his Host and shot up, slamming the Pharaoh to the ground.

"Bakura, chill out. He didn't mean to knock you down." Jonouchi grabbed his arm.

He smacked the hand away. "Don't touch my Host," he snarled, and that was his mistake, saying  _my Host_  instead of _me._

"Shit, it's the Other Bakura."

Both Jonouchi and Honda took his arms, restraining him. Honda reached under his shirt and pulled out the Millennium Ring hidden beneath the fabric.

The Pharaoh dusted himself off and walked towards Bakura. "I knew you stole that from my room on Kaiba's blimp."

He wanted to kick the smug expression off of the Pharaoh's face. "Yes, always quick to accuse me of theft, but tell me, how do I steal what's already mine?"

"Stop controlling Bakura's body."

The Spirit smirked. "I'm not the only one here sharing a body."

Ryou managed to push himself back to their conscious mind and reclaim his body. "Stop it. Both of you. Stop it, please."

Bakura snorted in the back of their head, waiting to see how the Pharaoh would react and ready to steal control again.

The Pharaoh's face contorted for a moment, as if arguing, and then his vessel returned. The Pharaoh's Host sighed, a little winded, as if he'd had to fight to make the Pharaoh return to the Puzzle. "Bakura, are you okay? I didn't mean to push you to the ground. The game just got too heated, sorry."

"I'm fine, Yugi." His Host smiled. "I'm sorry I knocked you down as well."

"Ryou." Yugi stared at the ground. "Why'd you take the Ring back?"

His Host looked away. "Why'd you lie when I asked you where it was?"

They didn't speak. The noise of children playing soccer in the fields besides them echoed across the park. A breeze evaporated sweat from his Host's forehead. He looked to his left and his right. "Um, if you let go of my arms, I'll go home now."

"You don't have to go home," Yugi said.

His Host rubbed his left shoulder where Jonouchi held a little too firm. "It's okay, Yugi. I think it's better this way."

He feinted a smile for them and Bakura wanted to slap him for it. "Don't worry if you don't see me around for awhile, Yugi. If I come over, our other selves will just fight, and I don't want that." He took Yugi's hand into both his own. "But, but I still want to be your friend."

Yugi threw his arms around Bakura's Host in a hug, standing on his toes to reach Ryou's shoulders. "We're always going to be friends."

They stood there for a moment. Bakura felt the stinging in his Host's eyes from tears Ryou refused to shed. His Host reached up to pull the tie from his hair but Anzu, who'd ran to them when the commotion happened, put her hand on top of his to stop him. "Keep it. Until the next time you come over. Give it back then."

Ryou sniffed. "Yeah. Okay."

He pulled away from Anzu's hand and Yugi's embrace. "I'll see you guys around."

They walked away, back to their nearby apartment.

_Ryou . . ._

He couldn't finish the sentence. He wasn't sure what compelled him to start speaking or call his Host by name.

_My tailbone hurts. You think Marik will kiss it and make it better?_

_No, I think he'll still be pissed at you when we get home._

_Maybe if I cook dinner. I'm in the mood for an omelet._

They stopped by the store, buying ingredients for omelets and enough groceries to last a week. His Host's mood improved when he got into the kitchen, steaming leftover rice, chopping vegetables and using chopsticks to scramble the eggs. As long as he focused on something else, he didn't have to think about his emotions, and that suited them both.

Ryou started singing as he cooked. "Dango, dango, dango, dango, dango, dango, daikazoku."

_Not that song._

His Host ignored him and continued singing as he folded the omelets. He garnished the dish with carrots cut in the shape of blossoms with snow pea leaves and set both plates on his table along with two cups of green tea.

Marik walked through the door as if the scene had been scripted. Bakura's Host looked up and gave Marik a sad smiled. "If I told you I had a bad day, would you skip whatever revenge you planned for me because of this morning?"

Marik dropped his bags near the door and marched with a steady gait to the table. "Have I been known to show mercy?"

"What if I bribed you with dinner?"

"Not likely to work, but you can give it a try."

"I'm really good at cooking."

Marik sat down and took a bite, he didn't say anything, but Bakura could tell by his face that he enjoyed the food. He chewed slow, contemplative, swallowing and sipping his tea. At length, he asked, "why was your day bad? Weren't you with Yugi?"

Ryou sighed. "The Spirit. The Pharaoh. The usual bullshit."

Marik gestured to the Ring. "Bakura, wasn't it your idea to let him go over there?"

Marik's comment irritated Bakura. For the second time, he took control of the body, though this time he left Ryou in their conscious mind. He ground his teeth for a moment before answering Marik. "The damned Pharaoh knocked him to the ground. What was I supposed to do?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "I don't really see the Pharaoh knocking people to the ground without a reason."

"Oh, he had a reason. Ryou was beating him in a game and he couldn't take it so he started playing rough."

_Bakura, at least let me eat my omelet._

Bakura snorted, but switched places with his Host once again.

Marik raised his eyebrow at the change.

"What?" Ryou asked, taking another bite. "It took me an hour to make these. I'm not letting him eat them."

Marik laughed. He had to stop eating so he didn't choke. Ryou grinned, using the opportunity to slide his foot under the table and poke at Marik's toes. Marik's expression was difficult to read as Ryou played with his feet. Bakura didn't think Marik knew how to respond and didn't want to show it. He almost envied his Host's subtle way of flirting and didn't mind because he knew they'd both reap the benefits from the action later.

"What game were you playing?" Marik asked.

"Basketball."

"Oh? I don't really see you playing that game. It doesn't have dice."

Ryou's toe traveled up Marik's foot to his ankle. "I think you assume too much about me, Marik."

_Thought you wanted to eat your omelet?_

_Just getting dessert ready before I finish dinner._

"I was wrong," Marik said, "you're not as bad as Bakura – you're much worse."

"Thank you." His foot was up to Marik's calf but his face stayed serene.

"That wasn't, on second thought, yes. I suppose you should take that as a compliment."

They finished eating and then Marik leaned across the table and pulled at the knot of hair behind Ryou's head.

He snatched Anzu's hair tie from Marik and slipped it over his wrist before shaking his hair loose around his shoulders. "I've been sweating. I need another shower."

Marik grinned. "Good idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***If you get the "Mountains are nice" and the "Welcome to Coneria" references without having to Google them - then you're awesome, just saying. If you don't know what games those are from, then you're probably too young to read this, even if you're 18 or over, lol. In other news, today is Friday 13th and my black cat just broke a mirror (seriously), this fact amuses me to no end so I had to share it with all twelve of you who actually read my stories :) ***


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I'm gonna rock you like a baby when the cities fall  
> We will rise as the buildings crumble  
> Float there and watch it all  
> Amidst the burning, we'll be churning  
> Our love will be our wings  
> Passion rising up from the ashes  
> When the world ends"
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

 

 

 

Marik led Bakura's Host into the shower cubicle. For amusement, he wanted to see how far he could go before Bakura took over. Ryou's pallid skin blushed a mild coral under the heat of the water. Marik dragged him under the flow and kissed him as water ran down their faces. The first difference he noticed between the two Bakuras was that Ryou used his tongue more, tasting each centimeter of Marik's lips and mouth as if he sampled a tray of champagne grapes. The second difference was the noises Ryou made. Bakura preferred grunts and growls. It wasn't until the end when oncoming orgasm rendered him indifferent to his pride, that Bakura's voice grew taut and higher pitched. Ryou, however, whimpered and moaned without reservation. The mewls held a wild quality to them and Marik's erection throbbed as he thought of what Ryou's orgasm noises would be if these were his foreplay sounds.

Marik dug his fingers into Ryou's shoulders. He pulled back to study Ryou's face. Ryou panted, his lips the color of Merlot, his dark eyes revealing Ryou's blatant desire. With every feature on his face ravenous and wantoned, Marik wondered how interconnected the two souls sharing the one body were. Marik's anger had been his other personality's anger; did it stand that the need displayed on Ryou's face was shared by both Bakuras? Marik enjoyed the thought, enjoyed the notion that he'd managed to pull away Bakura's tough, outer skin, and what Marik saw now was the raw essence that both the Host and the Spirit shared.

He slammed Ryou against the shower wall. Ryou winced and cried out, in pain not pleasure. Marik paused for a moment, watching as Ryou reached behind to rub a spot on his lower back. "Still sore," Ryou muttered in apology.

Marik turned him around to look, scowling at the large bruise renting the pale, beautiful, white expanse of skin on Ryou's back. " _This_  is from Pharaoh pushing you?"

"Is it bruised? It feels like it."

"No wonder Bakura fucking knocked the Pharaoh on his ass."

Ryou lowered his head. "I'm okay."

"No, this is not okay. The Pharaoh had no right." Marik heard the anger in his voice, a black, thick anger that made his entrails feel icy and sick. He couldn't get angry. He never wanted to lose control of his body again, and that thought made Marik nauseous with his own hypocrisy. He'd taken over Ryou's body, allowed the Spirit to do worse than bruise him. And then Marik caused both of them to go to the Shadows. All because Bakura tried to help him, even if it was for the Rod, though Marik never believed that was the entire reason.

Marik breathed hard, trying to reconcile everything in his mind. His anger at Ryou's bruise, how he and Bakura mistreated Bakura's Host, but also how the Parasite-Host relationship between them appeared to have changed to a symbiotic one. A sick, shaking feeling spread across Marik's chest and limbs as he stared at skin unwillingly marked because of the Pharaoh, different from his own scars, but similar enough to evoke empathy. As he looked at the bruise, the same black and inky-purple colors of the Shadows, Marik couldn't help but feel connected to the person standing in front of him.

Marik squeezed Ryou tight in his arms.

"Um, Marik?" Ryou asked.

Marik turned Ryou around so they faced each other once more, sticking his tongue into Ryou's mouth, only this time with less manipulation and more urgency. He cupped his hand over Ryou's bruise so he could press him against the shower wall without hurting the tender skin.

Ryou's eyes rolled back as they kissed. After some time, he pulled away. "The water's getting cold."

Marik reached for the nozzle and turned off the water. "Bed," he said the one word as a command.

Ryou snatched the towel off of the bar as Marik dragged him out of the bathroom. "I need to dry my hair."

"After." Marik pulled him to the bedroom.

Ryou laughed. "I'll get the sheets wet."

"I don't care." He pushed them onto the mattress.

Ryou tried to lay the towel down over the sheets, but Marik didn't slow his assault of touches and kisses. Ryou gave up and pressed his mouth against Marik's chest. Small moans leaked out of Ryou's mouth as his kisses traveled to Marik's navel and his nails ghosted down Marik's sides. He flipped Marik to his back and took Marik's entire length and girth into his mouth.

Marik gasped, not expecting the pleasure that stabbed up his shaft and dissipated into his stomach. He tucked his knees up, opening his legs wide to give Ryou room to maneuver. Ryou massaged Marik's testicles as he guided his mouth up and down. His lips stretched tight over Marik's phallus. Marik felt his tip graze against Ryou's back molars as Ryou pushed Marik's dick into the back of his throat. Marik's fingers knitted into the webbing of Ryou's hair. He let go, petting and caressing the back of Ryou's head.

Ryou continued to suck until Marik swelled as full as his skin could stretch. His fingers stopped petting Ryou's hair and again tangled into the wet net of white strands that looked like cold ocean foam crashing against the sand-colored beach of Marik's body. Ryou pulled back, kissing Marik's thighs.

_"_ Don't stop," Marik attempted to order the two words, but his voice sounded pleading.

Ryou used his thumb and forefinger to stroke Marik's tall shaft, avoiding his head. "Can I kiss you anywhere I'd like, Marik?" Ryou asked, his voice sing-song sweet and Marik didn't trust him anymore than he'd trust the other Bakura.

Ryou flattened his tongue against Marik's head and licked.

Marik closed his eyes, unable to think. "Please, Ryou. Please, Bakura make him finish."

Ryou kneaded his lips against Marik's tip, stopping and asking again. "Can I kiss you anywhere?"

"Yeah." Marik clenched his hands into fists, hoping anywhere meant back on his cock. He felt Ryou trail down Marik's thighs and prepared to force Ryou's mouth on his erection when a gentle, warm burst of pleasure tingled across his lower body. Ryou licked Marik's asshole for a second time and then a third. Marik panted at the new feeling, digging his heels into the bed and curling his toes into the damp sheets. Marik gasped, trying to speak but struggling to catch his breath. "No, I mean, you shouldn't."

"Why not?" Ryou asked in between licks.

"Because . . . this just seems . . . fuck, I don't know. Go ahead."

Ryou tickled the perimeter of Marik's asshole with the tip of his tongue. Then, Ryou thrust his tongue into Marik, his entire body hitched against the bedsheets. He cried out, fingers pulling at the damp, cotton sheets, mind barely in his head. Marik turned away and closed his eyes and reached again for Ryou's hair. He lay on the sheets and allowed Ryou to lift Marik's ass an inch off of the mattress for better access. Marik breathed hard, trying not to moan as loud as he was moaning, but he couldn't think enough to control his volume. Without warning, Ryou dropped Marik's hips onto the bed. He pulled Marik's cock back into his mouth and moved slow, exaggerating each up and down motion.

Marik murmured in Arabic, unable to concentrate enough to translate his words into Japanese – it also prevented either Bakura from understanding what he said. Ryou sped his movements, allowing Marik's tip to glide up his tongue and into the back of his throat with each bob of his head. "Ah, I'm going to, " Marik said, trying to force cohesive words out of his mouth, "you need to pull back."

Ryou ran the fingers of his right hand into the fine, sandy hairs on Marik's stomach, his left hand holding Marik's shaft. He had no intention of stopping or pulling away.

Marik had a moment to think that his plan, to use Bakura to provide himself with simple entertainment and base, carnal gratification as he avoided Egypt, had failed, and now he, Bakura, and Ryou all spiraled towards something deep and terrifying, something intimate and emotional. But, even as he thought of this, the breath froze in his lungs, his feet kicked out, and his fingers yanked two thick fistfuls of Ryou's hair as he came in Ryou's mouth.

Ryou swallowed, wiped his mouth, and sprang on top of Marik's stomach. Marik looked up, water still weighed down the white hair low on his head, but Marik knew he was staring at Bakura because of the difference in the eyes and the trace smirk tugging the right corner of Bakura's mouth upward.

Marik felt the smile spread slow across his face as the Spirit grabbed himself, closing his eyes and tilting his head up as he stroked himself. With Bakura returned, Marik felt more in control of the situation. "What do you see behind your eyelids, Bakura? Are you imagining something sadistic? Do you and Ryou whisper dirty nothings into your minds?"

Bakura slit his eyes open, examining Marik, one hand steady at work and the other trailing along Marik's chest. "We don't talk, but he moans. We think of you."

Marik looked away, still shaky and flustered from his orgasm. "Bullshit. You're flattering me."

"I don't care what you believe."

Marik covered his fingers on top of Bakura's hand, helping him jerk himself. Bakura inhaled at Marik's touch, his hand going a little faster. Marik reached over to the nightstand with his free hand and took the bottle of lube, dripping the liquid onto Bakura's erection. He continued to help him, their fingers slipping along Bakura's length.

"If you think of me, what do you think about?"

"Everything."

"I want you to be specific. What are you thinking about right  _now_?"

"Your hand on my dick, idiot."

Marik used his other hand to caress Bakura's side. His fingertips slipped across Bakura's ivory stomach and traced the rim of Bakura's belly button. Marik noticed, for the first time, that Bakura had a happy trail. He followed the near invisible line of fine hair down to Bakura's pubic area where the trail ended in a field of shaved, pale skin.

Marik watched Bakura's face, his blushing lips moving with excited breaths and soundless whispers, his eyes shut and pale lashes twittering. Marik stopped stroking Bakura and used both hands to grab his ass, kneading the skin and forcing a hard gasp out of Bakura's mouth. Bakura gritted his teeth and reached out with his free hand to grab Marik's arm. Bakura's hips swayed front to back as he bucked into his clenched fist. He gasped three times, releasing Marik's arm and pressing his hand against his perineum. Bakura doubled forward as he climaxed, but Marik noticed he didn't ejaculate.

"Why'd you do it like that?" Marik asked, curious.

Bakura panted, recovering from his orgasm, before he answered, "I just took a shower. I don't want to make a mess." He stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

Marik followed him, watching him clean up. He brushed his teeth and dried and brushed his hair. Marik propped his elbow against the door frame. "Where did you two learn all this shit, anyway?"

Bakura winced as the comb's teeth stuck into a knot in his hair. He looked up at the bathroom mirror, staring at Marik's reflection. "Internet."

Marik snorted. "Maybe if you spent as much time planning as you did wasting your time on a computer, you'd have your revenge already."

"Yes, because you never lowered yourself to such base habits and your plans for revenge came to complete fruition."

"That's different. My revenge was . . . misplaced."

"Was it?"

Marik clenched his jaw, staring at the cream tiles on the bathroom floor. "Bakura, you know I'm the one who killed my father."

"Why?"

"Because my darker self took control."

"But why? There has to be a reason."

Marik twisted his hands into fists. "I'm not talking about it."

He marched back to their bedroom, leaving Bakura to comb through the tangles in his hair. Marik pulled the damp sheets off the mattress, stuffing them in the hamper and finding the linen closet for replacements. He smoothed the fresh, dry sheets onto the mattress and crawled under the blanket. He lay facing the wall, away from Bakura's half of the bed, to avoid anymore conversations that evening.

* * *

Bakura also had nightmares, of blood and fire and gold, but what unnerved him more than his nightmares were his dreams. He sat on a simple flax cloth, the warm summer wind blowing his white hair across his tanned shoulders. Above him stars beaded on the night sky like glistening sweat-drops on dark skin. Twelve years old and already a notable thief, Bakura sat in the ruins of Kul Elna and listened to the screams of the spirits still bound to the village. They waited for the Items' return back to the Tablet, screamed for justice, and Bakura listened to their cries, nodding to himself in agreement.

However, one voice maintained a fragment of identify when all others had blended together, just as their bodies had into the gold. His mother, he always recognized her spirit, her  _heka_  too strong to fully lose herself even when damned. In the evenings she sang just as she had when alive, her voice reminiscent of wind through reeds, of raindrops striking the riverbanks during monsoons, of everything comforting.

Bakura woke to the feeling of Marik's fingers brushing against his cheeks. It took a moment to realize that Marik was wiping tears away from Bakura's eyes. He sat up and swiped at the remaining dampness with the side of his arm. "Damned Host," he muttered. Ryou didn't protest the lie.

"They happen." Marik shrugged.

Bakura remembered that was what he said after Marik's first nightmare. He felt a strange urge to crash against Marik's chest and allow the tears to continue. Bakura rubbed his face and shook his head, leaping out of bed to deny the existence of his foolish thoughts. He tugged on his pajama bottoms and marched to the bathroom, urinating and brushing his teeth. Trying to stay busy, Bakura went to their diorama, finding one of the sketchbooks they kept near the laptop. He started drawing.

Marik appeared from the hallway, dressed, hair smooth against his head. He checked the cupboards and took out a pot and various utensils. Bakura ignored him, keeping his eyes trained on the paper and the dark granite lines left by his pencil. The lack of speech in the room felt comfortable. Kitchen noises echoed throughout the apartment, water running, the quiet stammer of flames fanning out of the gas stove top, the occasional clink of dishes, but they didn't speak.

Marik set a plate of fava beans and scallions next to Bakura. He noticed the sketch in Bakura's notebook and yanked it from Bakura's hands.

"I've seen this creature," Marik said, "in the texts I read as a child, but it was larger and dark colored instead of white."

"That was after the Ring," Bakura muttered, playing with the tassels on the Ring since Marik had his notebook.

"After the Ring?" Marik asked.

"Yes, Diabound changed after I began fighting the Pharaoh and obtained the Ring." He touched the center of the Ring hanging from his bare chest to illustrate his sentence.

Marik stared at the picture. "Diabound . . . this creature isn't in any of the stone slabs."

"Of course not. It was my  _ka_."

Marik shook his head, handing the notebook back to Bakura. "I can't imagine you ever having a holy  _ka_."

Bakura pulled the paper away from Marik's hands, ignoring him and finishing the sketch. He and Ryou needed it for their campaign.

Marik crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you say 'was my  _ka_ '?"

Bakura didn't respond.

"Bakura, answer me."

"Why did you kill your father?"

"Because my darkness took over."

"Why?"

"I don't remember."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't remember when you're awake."

Marik pressed his teeth tight together as he clenched his jaw then answered, "I don't remember. I only remember waking up, like I'd been sleeping, and my father was dead on the floor."

Bakura nodded and answered Marik's question. "My  _ba_ and  _ka_  are trapped in the Ring, intertwined with the Dark Force in every Item. I can't call him anymore."

"I don't understand, Bakura, why would the Pharaoh fight you if you owned such a pure  _ka?_

"Because if you are not loyal to the Pharaoh you're evil."

Marik gestured to Bakura's plate. "If that gets cold it's not my problem." He went back to the kitchen, grabbing a second dish which he took to the table. "Shit, I forgot to make tea."

Bakura stood and took his plate into the kitchen. He heated up water in the kettle and ate standing up. Occasionally, he'd glance at Marik and scowl, each time Marik scowled back at him. After a few minutes, they both looked at each other at the same time and smiled. Bakura wasn't sure why, it was as if he tried to scowl and all the fine muscles in his mouth got confused and went the wrong direction. The kettle whistled and he poured the tea, bringing two cups to the table and sitting across from Marik.

Marik held his cup. "What did you dream about?"

"Ghosts." Bakura stared at the green liquid in his cup. "What did you dream about?"

"A monster."

"Red eyes and sharp teeth?"

The corner of Marik's mouth twisted up in a cynical grin. "What? You two know each other?"

"Sure we do."

"Not surprised."

Bakura drained his cup. "How long do you think this will last?"

"How long will what last?"

"Well, I can stay inside all day long and work on my game and never find it dull. How long until this apartment bores the hell out of you and you go running off to Paris or Dublin or Moscow or back to Egypt?"

"Stuck in here, stuck underground, at least your apartment has windows." Marik snorted. "You could teach me how to play Monster World."

"We're not playing. We're designing a campaign."

"I can help."

Bakura opened his mouth to say  _no_ , but stopped and thought for a moment. "Really?"

Marik nodded his head, finishing his tea. "Why the hell not?"

"You used to make counterfeit cards for Duel Monsters. I suppose you can help me make the cards to go with this game."

"What's the point of making this so grandiose if no one's ever going to play it?"

Bakura smirked. "Maybe I'll invite some of Ryou's friends to play."

_Asshole, leave my friends out of your games. I'm only helping you build this because I love Monster World, not so you can torture the Pharaoh._

At the same time his Host yelled in their head, Marik snorted. "Oh yes, a table top RPG, that's a great way to get your revenge."

"Admittedly not as good as your idea of playing a card game, but I'll manage."

"I was going to kill him."

"That's not good enough." Bakura ground his teeth. "What good would killing him do? He's been dead for over three thousand years. His spirit and soul need to be destroyed."

Bakura pushed himself away from the table, going to his room and changing into the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he found. He went back to the diorama, Marik already sitting in the chair beside the table, flipping through Bakura's sketch book. Bakura tried to pull the notebook out of Marik's hands, but he held on tight. "Marik, let go."

"Who is this woman?" Marik asked pointing to the picture he'd been admiring.

Bakura glanced down to see a detailed drawing of a dark skinned, white haired women nursing an infant. "None of your business. Give me back my notebook."

Marik looked up at him. Bakura noticed that he hadn't yet traced his eyes in Kohl. Without the dark liner Marik's expression looked tired, the nightmares cutting into his sleep apparent on his face. Marik released the paper. Bakura clutched the drawing to his chest and frowned.

Marik nodded his head, as if he saw the answer written somewhere on Bakura's expression. "Someone important."

Bakura slammed the sketchbook on top of the table, its weight knocking over several figurines. He walked towards the door and threw it open.

Marik followed him. They left the apartment complex and walked down the street. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"Thought you could stay inside all day without getting bored?"

"Five minutes without you, okay?"

"Don't see why you're so pissed off. At least you remember what your mother looked like."

Bakura stopped, almost tripping over his own feet. He stared at Marik, who looked surprised. Marik shifted his eyes towards the ground. "That was just a lucky guess. I didn't think I'd get it right on the first try."

"That picture . . . is the last moment I saw her alive. Standing in the doorway of the hut nursing Tiy, the light failing around her. Marik, I don't talk about this."

"I'm sorry, Bakura," Marik said, his voice thick.

Bakura snorted. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that word."

Marik forced a grin onto his face. "Savor it. You'll never hear me say it again."

Bakura watched Marik, opening his mouth to say something, but then he saw three girls down the street walking towards them. "Shit." Bakura pulled Marik out of the street and into a narrow alley.

"What the hell, Ba-"

Bakura clapped his hand on Marik's mouth. "Quiet."

They stayed behind a dumpster in the alley as the girls walked by, Marik's back pressed against the brick wall of a side building and Bakura's legs straddled over Marik's half bent knee. They continued to stand together like a pair of awkward Bachata dancers. Once the girls left, Bakura lowered his hand, his voice a whisper. "That was Shizuka, one of the Pharaoh's servants. You don't want to be seen and I'd rather them not know you're here either, especially with me."

He glanced back at Marik and swallowed. Marik's eyes stared at him, intent and piercing. "You have a way," Marik said, "of making me feel like I'm drowning." Marik pulled Bakura to his mouth and kissed him as they crouched in the shadows.

Bakura heard himself whimper from want as they kissed. He pulled away from Marik. "Come on." He took Marik's hand and dragged him out of the alley, walking down the street. "She went towards the apartment, we better go this way for a bit."

They ended up at the park again, on a tall, grassy hill away from the courts and playgrounds. They walked without a specific destination or purpose for about five minutes. Bakura caught Marik's eyes again, naked without the Kohl to garnish them, and both their eyes trailed down to their still clasped hands. They released their hold on their hands and turned away from each other.

"You always drag me into the most inconvenient situations, Marik."

"Don't blame this on me. You're the one who needed fresh air."

"I needed to get away from you so I could think straight."

"If you can't think, it's because you're stupid, not because I'm around." Marik slipped his fingers over Bakura's wrist and stole Anzu's hair tie, pulling his hair back into a ponytail and fastening it with the thin, black cord.

"What is with you stealing my stuff today? Give that back before Ryou has an anxiety attack."

"Stealing from a thief, am I? Do you realize that you just used his name?"

"To avoid confusion," Bakura snapped.

"Host was rather specific."

"Fine, wear the damn hair tie. Like I care that his stupid friend let him borrow it."

"Oh, is that why he likes it? I thought it was weird yesterday when he made such a point of putting it back on his wrist."

Bakura felt his Host move their eyes to look at Marik's hair. It made Bakura stare at Marik as well. A breeze blew Marik's ponytail away from his body, strands of bang falling around his face. Marik wore a wine hued, button up shirt and the combination of the color, Marik's hair, and his bare eyes, sent Bakura's heart into a frenzy that he didn't want to admit to. He took full control again, closing his eyes to escape the sight of Marik.

"You know, I've never been to a park. Since we're here let's do something."

Bakura opened his eyes. "It's a park, you don't really do anything. It's just an excuse to be outside."

"That's kind of brilliant if you think about it."

_We can lay in the grass and watch the clouds_.

Bakura frowned at his Host's suggestion. "Why would anyone lay on the ground just to stare at clouds?"

Marik glanced at Bakura and then up at the sky. "You know, I always hated living underground, but when I finally got away I was so busy with revenge that I never got to enjoy any of the stupid things I wanted to see on the surface." He pulled Bakura down to the grass, laying on his back and staring at the sky. "All that blue and white reminds me of you, Bakura."

"The cloud over there that looks like a moron reminds me of you, Marik."

"Yes, and that one over there that looks like a jerk favors you."

Marik's fingertips drummed against the top of Bakura's hand. Bakura blinked hard, from the sunlight and from the feeling in his head that everything spun out of control. He held his breath when Marik's fingers settled against his skin. Bakura shifted his hand so his thumb could trace the curve of Marik's hand where thumb and pointer finger met. Marik responded by brushing his pinky against the blade of Bakura's palm.

A single, humorless laughed burst from Marik's throat. "Do you realize what we're doing?"

"Lying on the ground like idiots," Bakura said.

"Yes, but think about it. We're not doing  _anything_. When's the last time that happened in your life? I honestly want to know. When's the last time you weren't waiting for the right moment to strike, or plotting, or putting a scheme into motion?"

Bakura thought for a moment. "I was probably seven."

Marik laughed. "I think I was eleven."

They laid there, on a carpet of green grass, looking up at the blue and white ceiling of the world. Bakura remembered stories his mother invented for him as they walked to the river in the mornings to fetch water. "My mother's hair was cloud white and her eyes sky blue, but her skin was the dark color of river silt. I had to hold her hand when we fetched water, until my sister, Tiy, was born. By then I was old enough to carry the jar for my mother so she could hold the baby."

"I never saw my mother, but I heard she favored Ishizu. I like to think that if she'd been alive, she would have stopped everything, but she probably wouldn't have. What do you think, Bakura? Do you think it might have been different if she'd been there?"

"Maybe," Bakura whispered. He thought of his dream, one ghost singing when ninety-eight others screamed. "Even if you were still initiated, it might have been less horrible with her there."

"I don't remember most of it, pain and blood, of course, but I don't remember specifics . . . I think that's what I dream about."

"I didn't realize how much I'd forgotten of my life, but the last few days memories keep rushing back."

"Why now?"

Bakura tilted his head, finding Marik more interesting than the clouds. "I don't know, you remind me when I was alive."

"Because I'm from Egypt?"

". . . I think it's more than that."

"I'm sorry." Marik turned his head so he was also staring at Bakura. "I should have never returned to Japan. I didn't expect . . . I don't even know what's happening, and I'm not sure I want it to stop."

"Thought you were never going to say sorry again?" Bakura and Marik still traced the outline of their hands.

"I lied." Marik rolled to his side, overlapping on Bakura's chest. He leaned down to take a kiss from Bakura's lips.

"Not in public, Marik."

"I don't care who sees." He kissed Bakura.

Bakura sat up. "But my Host might. You shouldn't make his life anymore difficult than I already do."

Marik sighed. "No, I guess I shouldn't. Do you think those stupid girls are gone now?"

Bakura nodded. They stood, dusting grass away from their clothes and walked back to the apartment.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When the world ends  
> You're gonna come with me  
> We're gonna be crazy  
> Like a river bends,  
> We're gonna float  
> Through the criss cross of the mountains  
> Watch them fade to nothing  
> When the world ends  
> You know that's what's happening now  
> And I'm gonna be there with you somehow"
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

Ryou made lunch. As he cut vegetables, he realized that most of the time he spent in control of his own body was either in the kitchen or working on their Monster World campaign. Ryou knew that fact should bother him, but it didn't. It was like being awake during your favorite parts of the day while sleepwalking through everything else; he rather enjoyed it.

Marik sat at the kitchen table, watching Ryou prepare their ramen.

"So," he asked, "why is this stupid hair tie important to you?"

"Because Anzu gave it to me," Ryou answered while slicing carrots.

"Which one was that?"

"The one you controlled on the blimp."

"Oh." Marik's gaze clouded for a moment.

His attention returned back to the moment when Ryou started speaking again. "I have to keep track of it because I'm supposed to give it back to her the next time I see them."

"You don't seem the type to flirt with girls."

"Would you get jealous if I did?"

Marik frowned at the table, drawing on the wooden surface with the tip of his finger. "I suppose I don't really have any claim on you or Bakura."

"Oh." Ryou scraped the carrots to the side and prepared the shiitake mushrooms. "Too bad. I think you'd look cute jealous, and I kinda like possessive boys."

Marik snorted. "Well, guess the Ring was a good Item for you."

"Yes, getting possessed is a bit like I'm the protagonist in a horror movie." He gestured to Marik's ponytail. "But Anzu wasn't flirting with me when she told me to keep her hair tie." Ryou sighed, remembering the day before. "I was saying goodbye. Bakura and the Other Yugi were fighting and I realized it was better if I let them be. I can't stop the Pharaoh and the Spirit from hating each other, and I always feel like a burden when I'm with the others, but despite all that, Anzu told me to hold on to her hair tie and give it back the next time I saw them. Don't you see, Marik? It's like a magic spell, a promise that no matter what happens between the Other Me and the Other Yugi - I'll always be able to go back to them as a friend."

"Here." Marik pushed himself away from the table. He walked into the kitchen and unwound the tie out of his hair. Ryou reached out his hand, combing through Marik's freed hair. Marik replaced the circular, black cord around Ryou's wrist.

Ryou smiled. "Maybe some of the white magic rubbed off on you while you wore it."

"I doubt it."

Ryou leaned in closer to Marik, closing his eyes halfway and breathing through his mouth. Marik seized the invitation and kissed him, wrapping his arms around Ryou's back – the upper section to avoid his bruise – and squeezing him hard. Marik reached for Ryou's pant-button, but Ryou stopped him. "I don't want the noodles to get soggy. They should be done."

_Who cares about noodles? Host, you're an idiot._

Ryou repressed his laughter, not wanting to explain to Marik what he thought was funny. After they ate, Marik stood and stretched. "I need to run to a store and get a computer if I'm going to help you with your game."

Ryou nodded. "I'm going to stay here and get some writing done for the campaign."

Marik left and Ryou washed and dried the dishes, brewing himself an extra cup of tea that he took with him over to his laptop. He scanned through several folders and opened up a new document.

_I want to make your mother's spirit an NPC and put her in a side quest._

_No._

_Didn't you want this to be as accurate to your memories as possible? Your mother was there. How can I avoid a detail like that?_

_Leave it alone, Host._

Bakura escaped the conversation by hiding deep in their subconscious.

Ryou chased him, closing his eyes so he could sense the Spirit's presence in his mind.  _You can't hide every time you start to feel something!_  Ryou screamed in his mind.

_Leave me be._

_No. Not anymore. It's too late to pretend we hate each other._

_Leave me alone right now or I'll stab your other hand through a game board._

_Do it, but I'm not letting you run away._

_Last warning._

_Bakura!_

Ryou blinked. He was in his soul room and standing in front of him was the Spirit. His hair was as white as Ryou's only shorter and his skin was darker than Marik's. Ryou reached out and traced the scar on the Thief's cheek. "How did I . . . I didn't even know we could meet like this. I mean, I've heard Yugi talk about doing this with the Pharaoh, but I didn't think  _we_  could do it."

"That's because we shouldn't be here at the same time. You're supposed to be a tool for my revenge and one does not speak to objects."

"I know you don't think of me like that." Ryou dropped his hand and stared at the floor of his soul room. "Maybe you used to, but not anymore. Just like I used to think of you as a monster, but you're not. I've seen everything you've remembered – you're a person like the rest of us."

A growl from outside Ryou's soul room shook the walls and ceiling. The noise brought a dark, sinking feeling with it and Ryou pulled the Spirit against his chest in a protective embrace out of reflex. "But that is a monster, isn't it?"

Bakura looked up, as if he'd see something, but there was only the ceiling. He didn't push himself away from Ryou's arms, but he did whisper, "this is why we shouldn't be talking. We're pissing him off."

Ryou gave a single nod of his head. "Good. I  _want_  to piss him off."

"Shut up. That's not a sliver of darkness like what's in the Rod or the Puzzle. That's Zorc Necrophades, the very essence of the Shadows."

"I know. I remember him from our first Monster World campaign." Ryou reached out with his right hand and held the side of Bakura's face. "I hate him. You think this will get him mad?"

Ryou sucked on the Spirit's bottom lip. Bakura muffled a surprised noise when Ryou's mouth started pulling against his. Another growl shook Ryou's soul room. The Spirit held Ryou's shoulders for a moment and then pushed him back. "Stop that. I don't want to deal with an angry, dark god."

"And I don't want to be a useless, little, white Go stone. I want to fight him, Bakura."

"You've got a lot of level grinding to do before taking on that boss battle." Bakura snorted.

"Good idea." Ryou slammed the Spirit against the wall, tugging at the shorter, white strands and biting the Spirit's throat. Ryou bucked forward and upward, stealing gasps out of the mouth of the former Thief King.

"What . . . are you?"

Ryou laughed, outlining the Thief's ear with his tongue before answering, "I'm grinding. Let me know when you level up." Ryou lifted Bakura up against the wall, spreading his brown legs out wide. He didn't wear undergarments beneath his waist-wrap and Ryou could see his erection lifting above a silvery patch of pubic hair.

"You're crazy," Bakura growled, but he wrapped his legs around Ryou's waist.

Ryou ripped the cloth away from Bakura's midsection, stroking and rubbing his hand against Bakura's cock while sucking on Bakura's nipples.

"You're crazy." At this point, he was panting.

Ryou smiled and switched to Bakura's other nipple. "Between you and Marik running around my head, how could I not be crazy?"

Bakura gave in, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall of Ryou's soul room. He grunted as Ryou worked. Ryou knew what to do from all their hours of auto-erotic experimentation, and it only took a few minutes of sucking and pumping before the Spirit moaned and panted and spilled over Ryou's hand. After the orgasm Ryou kissed Bakura, slow and  _suavemente._ Their lips barely touched.

Outside, the darkness slammed against the walls of Ryou's soul room, attempting to rent the protective shell apart, but Ryou didn't heed the vibrations or noise. He stayed calm, kissing the corners of Bakura's lips and flicking the tip of his tongue in and out of Bakura's mouth. Bakura gasped as if he couldn't breathe. His fingertips reached under Ryou's shirt and explored each of the five scars from the Ring hung around their neck.

Another crash shook the room. Ryou felt fat sweat-drops drag across the sides of his face and down his collarbone. The air felt stiff and heavy in his lungs.

"Stop," Bakura whispered.

"No." Ryou spoke through his kisses, lighting his lips on Bakura's and pulling away to speak and then kiss him again. "What good am I? What good is a White Wizard if I can't heal either Marik or you?"

The roars outside changed from anger to something darker. Ryou panted, feeling the impact against his soul. His hair hung loose and damp against his shoulders and his shirt stuck to his skin. Another roar and Ryou had to lean against Bakura for support.

The Thief smiled, staring at the ceiling once again. "You two idiots aren't worth all this trouble."

"Bakura?"

"It's time for you to go, Ryou."

Ryou felt Bakura push against his chest. He stumbled backwards, shocked by the sudden realization that he was out of his soul room and back in his body.

* * *

Marik let himself back into Ryou's apartment. When he stepped inside he noticed Ryou pacing, his face sweating and fevered.

"Ryou?" Marik asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's my fault," Ryou muttered and paced. "I didn't care because I wanted to fight the damn thing, but Bakura protected me again and that stupid bastard locked me out of my own subconscious." He snorted. "Never thought I'd be angry for him shutting me  _out_  of my soul room."

Marik shut the door and went to Ryou, holding him still and looking in his face. "You're not making any sense, Ryou."

Ryou looked at Marik, his brown eyes round and lost. "Marik, if Zorc takes complete control over Bakura again he'll go back to the way he was at the beginning." Ryou blinked tears out of his eyes with his pale lashes. "I can't. I can't go back to blackouts and being all alone."

"Who's Zorc?"

"The destructive power sealed in the Items, but mostly in the Ring."

Marik nodded as if he already knew what Ryou was telling him, but it'd been the first time he heard a name associated with the darkness that inhabited the Millennium Items. Marik grabbed the hair tie from Ryou's wrist, pulling Ryou's hair behind his head and tying it in place. "I don't see why you're worried. What's another god to Bakura? Slifer, Ra, they defeat him, but he just stands back up and dusts himself off."

"This is different. It's not another Shadow Game, it's the Shadow."

"Doesn't matter. He'll be back in three minutes."

Ryou sniffed, drying his eyes on the back of his hand. "I hope you're right."

"If I'm wrong, I'll make you sushi." Marik thought about the statement for a moment and then added. "But if I'm right, you have to make me sushi."

Ryou chuckled, still rubbing his eyes. "Deal."

* * *

As a thief, Bakura was familiar with the chase. Merchants, guards, the Pharaoh himself – Bakura knew how to dash through narrow alleys or escape into lands too desolate to be followed into. Inside the Ring, Bakura and Zorc were little more than thoughts; nonetheless, Zorc chased him through the artifact and the Thief controlled the chase as easily as if Zorc were another mere guard. He used his memories trapped in the Ring – of his first battle against the Pharaoh – to hide from the darkness chasing him.

As he jumped from one thought to another, Bakura caught glimpses of himself fighting the Pharaoh. The rage returned, making his hands shake and bile wash against the back of his throat, but with so many personal memories recently returned to his mind, Bakura realized he'd lost not just his  _ba_  and  _ka,_ but  _himself_  after gaining control of the Ring. Once he'd put the relic around his neck, Bakura kept his need for revenge for the crimes against Kul Elna, but forgot every particular of the village he was attempting to redress. Bread, beer, stories told at night with stars poxing the indigo sky, his mother's belly swelling as Tiy grew inside her, his father teaching him to wrestle, his grandfather teaching him his first games, the smell of ozone before monsoons, the taste of dates, the sounds of wild dogs hunting in the moonlit desert, the subtle details that compiled together to create a unique life in the same way that notes could be combined in order to create a unique song; everything was wiped from his mind after the Ring touched his skin, everything except his hatred for the Pharaoh. A new anger birthed in the Spirit, directed at Zorc. He agreed with Ryou; it wasn't good enough to be a useless, little, black Go stone in a game played by Necrophades and the Pharaoh. They needed to fight Zorc as well. They needed to become the DM's instead of game pieces.

Bakura exited the Ring, leaving Zorc to hunt for him in a maze of broken, lost memories and Shadows. Ryou's relief smothered him as soon as their minds reconnected. Although in the same body, he could tell Ryou hugged him as if he were another one of Ryou's dumb friends. He opened his eyes and saw Marik staring at him.

Bakura grinned. "Did you miss me?"

"No." Marik frowned, trying to mask his look of concern. "I said you'd be back in three minutes and it took you close to four. I almost had to make sushi because of you."

"What?"

In the back of his mind, Ryou spoke fast and panicked.  _I didn't think you'd come back. I thought only a shell would return and we'd have to find you all over again._

Bakura sighed, repressing his thoughts with action. "Will both of you shut-up?" He grabbed Marik's collar and used his thumb and forefinger to unbutton Marik's shirt.

"But Bakura." Marik winked as Bakura undressed him. "I thought we were going to work on your game? I even bought a laptop."

"I told you to shut up." Bakura pulled the maroon shirt away and licked along Marik's collarbone and up his throat. This time, Bakura didn't suppress the moans sifting from his mouth as he pinched the smooth skin of Marik's throat with gentle bites. Once Bakura saw the noises as a sign of weakness, but Ryou had shown him what they truly were – cries of defiance.

He felt Marik's pulse quicken against his tongue. Marik's ruddy-colored nipples grew stiff as Bakura's caresses and purrs aroused him. Marik dug his nails into Bakura's shoulders as Bakura sucked on his throat, careful not to bruise the spice-colored skin.

Marik buried his face in Bakura's hair, inhaling and moaning. "You still smell like the park, like sunshine."

"You taste like the air before a storm."

"Bakura, I'm going to fuck you."

Bakura closed his eyes. "Take what you need, Marik."

Marik jumped to his feet, hoisting Bakura in his arms and carrying Bakura like a white-porcelain doll into their bedroom. As he lowered Bakura onto the bed, their gazes intertwined. Marik stripped Bakura's pants away from his waist and legs and then removed his own pants. Marik searched under the mattress until he found a dong as Bakura removed his t-shirt. Grabbing the lube off of the night stand, still sitting next to the book he started the other night, Marik lathered the bright purple phallus with clear lubrication and situated it inside Bakura. As he fucked Bakura with the dong, he bent forward and sucked Bakura's erection.

Bakura arched his back and pressed his head into the mattress as warmth spread across his lower body. He let both his and Ryou's cries pour interchangeably from his throat. He tried to breathe in time with Marik's movements, but his breath forced itself in and out of his lungs in shorter, quicker gasps.

Marik tossed the toy onto the carpet and pulled Bakura's legs straight into the air. Marik gelled himself slick with lube and pressed himself inside Bakura, who held his breath as the sensation of Marik filling him overran all other senses. Marik continued to hold Bakura's legs up, Bakura's ankle's resting on Marik's left shoulder. Marik leaned his head against Bakura's shins as he pulled in and out of Bakura's body.

"You feel really good." Marik's yellow hair bunched against Bakura's leg and Marik leaned against him. Stray segments fell into his face but he didn't brush them away.

Light forced into the room through the slits in the blinds. Bakura watched Marik's face in the fading daylight. Despite his young age, crows feet scratched at the corners of Marik's eyes and frown lines creased the corners of his mouth, but his expression was beautiful because it was real and not another one of the masks that Marik always wore.

Marik spread Bakura's legs,one ankle now resting on each shoulder. Marik leaned forward, shifting the angel of his penetration. Bakura gasped and held his breath. The new position struck nerves high in Bakura's body that Marik normally only teased. Bakura raised his ass above the mattress to help Marik pound against the right area. Each thrust felt damn near orgasmic and Bakura's legs twitched against Marik's shoulders.

"Shit. Ahhh!" Bakura hid his face with a pillow to mute sounds too loud for an apartment.

Marik smacked the pillow away from Bakura's face. "No you don't."

Bakura bit the side of his hand in another attempt to censor his moans.

Marik pulled his hand away, lacing his fingers with Bakura's. "I want to hear you scream."

Bakura gasped out words, unable to speak sentences. "Marik. Neighbors."

"Fuck them. I want to hear you scream." Marik adjusted his hold on Bakura's legs so he could thrust faster.

Bakura shouted, Ryou's cries a haunting echo to his own each time Marik assailed their prostate. Bakura's cock twitched, a vein in the center pulsing with each jerk of muscle as precum welled around the tip.

Marik spit in his palm and used his saliva lubricated hand to rub up and down against Bakura's shaft.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Bakura shouted, his pelvic floor muscle convulsing around Marik's cock. Bakura couldn't breathe as he ejaculated, his body trembling in spasms. When his orgasm passed, Bakura's chest heaved as he fought to pull ragged, torn gasps of oxygen into his lungs. His face felt hot enough to blister his skin.

"Flushed is a good look for you." Marik panted as he continued to move.

"Marik, fuck me."

"Aren't you finished?" Marik teased.

"Not until you come inside me."

"Soon, Bakura."

Minutes later, Marik ejaculated into Bakura. He crashed on top of Bakura's chest, his heartbeat punching into Bakura's ribs. Bakura circled his arms around Marik, around his neck to avoid the scars on his back. Bakura held him as they fell asleep and continued to hold him after Marik's nightmares began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what the caged bird feels, alas!  
> When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;  
> When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,  
> And the river flows like a stream of glass;  
> When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,  
> And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—  
> I know what the caged bird feels!
> 
> I know why the caged bird beats his wing  
> Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;  
> For he must fly back to his perch and cling  
> When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;  
> And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars  
> And they pulse again with a keener sting—  
> I know why he beats his wing!
> 
> I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,  
> When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—  
> When he beats his bars and he would be free;  
> It is not a carol of joy or glee,  
> But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,  
> But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—  
> I know why the caged bird sings!"
> 
> ~Sympathy, by Paul Laurence Dunbar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mild disclaimer for Marik's initiation*

Marik's father scolded him for vomiting through the mouth bit. He'd done it twice, but Marik didn't care about his father's words, couldn't care. Less than half his back bled from the flame-heated, knife-carved lacerations. Single cuts would heal only as shallow scars, so thin strips of skin had to be peeled off the back to make the letters and images clear. The blood clotted, drying cool and tacky around the exposed wounds even as the cuts themselves seared with the fire of Ra. The lower half of Marik's back sweated as if to protect itself from the inevitable cutting fire. Marik thought he might vomit a third time. Smoke sifted through the air and a foul smell clung to it. He tried denying the odor, but it crawled into his nostrils and demanded as much attention as the sharp, itching cuts ruining his skin. The smell was him. The blood, the vomit, the sweat, and the charred stench of cauterized flesh.

"This is an honor," his father said. The hot knife pressed into Marik's skin again.

 _This isn't happening,_ Marik insisted in his mind as he screamed through the mouth bit. He renounced each cut. His throat burned from the vomit and smoke.

_Isn't happening._

_Isn't._

_I'm somewhere else._

_I'm outside._

_I'm anywhere but here._

_I'm outside._

_It's bright and not dark._

_This._

_Is._

_Not._

_Happening._

_It's bright and not dark._

_It isn't._

_It's bright . . ._

_It isn't._

_. . . not dark._

_It isn't happening –_

_– not to me. Not to me. Not to me—Not to me—Not-to-me—Not-to-menottomenottomenottome!_

And then he was laughing because it wasn't happening,  _wasn'twasn'twasn'twasn't_. Not to him. Not to him . . . not anymore. He was safe. Finally safe? Yes. Safe in the back of his mind. He was safe as long as he stayed lost in fever and fire and inky black. As long as he stayed asleep in the back of his mind, he could dream he was outside.

Everything split into bright and dark.

Marik's mind felt like a toy his sister once showed him. A small disk on a string with a picture on each side, one a bird, the other a cage, and when one held the string out on each side, the disk would spin, spin, spin, spin, combining the two images, front and back and back and front, and Marik was a bright yellow bird trapped in a dark iron cage.

_No, I'm the bird; you're only the cage._

It wasn't until he saw Rishid, blood staining his face and soaking into his shift, that Marik returned to the moment. His back burned, the wounds cauterized but still bleeding through his bandages. It was appropriate for Rishid to have carved into his face, upfront for everyone to see and not hiding like Marik's wounds. Marik was supposed to be the Sun, but he'd given his birthright away to whatever piece of his mind fully endured the initiation. Now he and Rishid were the Moon, Marik the lit side and Rishid his shadow . . .

Marik woke in Bakura's arms. He gasped and stuttered miserable sounds as he returned to consciousness. Bakura had Marik sitting in his lap, one pale arm cradling Marik's head and the other supporting his ass. It was the closest Bakura would get to holding Marik while avoiding his scars. Marik told him the first time they'd fucked during Battle City to never touch his back, but at the moment Marik wished Bakura would hug him properly, caress his back as if he didn't have scars. He wouldn't ask for it, although he knew if he did Bakura would do it.

"We skipped dinner last night." Bakura spoke matter-of-fact, as if they weren't pressed against each other in a desperate need to comfort and be comforted. "Let's go out for breakfast."

Marik swallowed. His throat burned. When he trusted himself to speak, he answered. "Okay, but Ryou still owes me sushi."

Marik stayed in Bakura's hold, laying against his chest. Bakura leaned into Marik's hair, breathing deep but saying nothing. When he finally spoke, it didn't have anything to do with the moment. "I miss real beer. The stuff they brew now tastes like piss."

"Your Host isn't even old enough to drink beer."

Bakura snorted. "So what? I've drank beer since I was tall enough to hold a cup."

Marik slid out of Bakura's lap and crawled out of bed. They both walked to the bathroom. Bakura looked at himself in the mirror, his hair still pulled back. Marik started the shower water. He nudged Bakura's leg with his toe before stepping under the water. "You're so vain. Quit staring at the mirror."

"It's weird seeing your reflection, but it's someone else's face. Especially because it's not that different. Same cheekbones. Same hair. But his skin is so white. It reminds me of Diabound."

Through the sound of running water, a strange silence covered the room. Marik could tell that Bakura and Ryou spoke in their minds. Through the fogged glass, Marik saw Bakura nod to himself. After he washed and rinsed his hair, he and Bakura traded places in the shower. Marik brushed his teeth, dried his hair, and lined his eyes with Kohl. He watched Bakura step out of the shower and wrap a towel around his waist. "You're too skinny. Stop skipping meals."

"Stop telling me what to do."

"But, Bakura, you  _like it_."

"Screw you, Marik. Get out of my way; I'm getting cold."

Marik stood in front of Bakura, looking down so their eyes met.

"Thought I told you to get out of my way."

"Make me."

Bakura lifted Marik up and pressed him against the wall. "Not too skinny to pick you up, am I?"

The moment felt a bit like a dream to Marik, or like something he'd watched on TV. The mirror fogged with steam, and Bakura's wet hair dripped down his back and into the towel at his waist. Their skin, soft from the shower, pressed together; it didn't seem like something that could happen to him. Darkness, bathing with a coarse cloth out of a bucket of water, hours alone in a room forced to study texts about the Pharaoh . . . even after all these years, Marik felt like that was his life. No matter where he traveled as he lead the Rare Hunters, he couldn't quite escape the old tomb. However, Marik imagined Bakura as a door, one that would finally lead him out into open air, but it was up to Marik to step through and claim his own freedom.

Bakura kissed him. "Had I known . . ." Bakura kissed him again. "I would have never opened that door and let you into this apartment." Bakura kissed him a third time.

Marik opened his mouth and kneaded Bakura's tongue with his own. Both their mouths tasted like toothpaste. He pulled away. "I could always leave."

"Go back to your tomb-guardian's destiny?"

"And leave you alone to challenge Pharaoh to one last Shadow Game."

"Or we could always say fuck it, toss all the old cards and dice in the trash, and write the campaign for our own game."

"You wouldn't do it." Marik tangled his fingers in Bakura's damp hair. "Your revenge is too important."

"Maybe I would do it. To prove you wrong."

"I know your revenge is too important."

"I can't forgive Pharaoh." Bakura averted his eyes. "But I refuse to be a pawn . . . and that's what I've been for a long time."

* * *

Bakura held Marik's waist as Marik drove his motorcycle to the far end of Domino City, where they'd be less likely to be seen by someone who knew Marik.

 _It's like we have a secret boyfriend._  Ryou laughed in the back of their mind.  _With us sneaking around like this._

_Still want a boss battle?_

_Yes._

_Then let's piss off a dark god._

Bakura held Marik a little tighter, his helmet preventing him from leaning in too close. They found a place to eat. Bakura frowned, feeling uncomfortable surrounded by glass, polished wood, and folded napkins. Marik, however, blended into the environment as if born in it. Marik's well manicured nails, easy body language, and the way his lips and tongue danced as he ordered, distracted Bakura. He didn't realize until afterward that Marik ordered for both of them. It seemed something that a married couple would do and the thought made Bakura's skin itch.

"Don't pout." Marik grinned.

"Don't order for me. I'm not a woman."

"Of course not. If you were I'd want nothing to do with you."

A server brought tea. Bakura stared at the green liquid in his cup, tracing the circumference of the glass with his fingertip. His gaze kept lifting up to steal glances at Marik. He told himself to stop, but then he'd find his eyes rising again to meet lavender. He felt Marik's foot nudge against his, repeating the game Ryou played the previous night at dinner. Bakura shut his eyes and sipped the steaming tea as Marik's foot trailed up his leg. Exhaling slowly, his free hand reached across the table and his pointer finger ghosting across the back of Marik's hand. When his eyes caught Marik's again, they both smiled, as if they'd reached a secret agreement—perhaps to murder everyone in the room and set the building on fire, or perhaps to stop by the park again before they went back to the apartment.

They had tamago, miso soup, tofu, fish, and umeboshi. Bakura found he had more of an appetite than usual. He ate the food as he would have when alive, scooping large mounds of rice into his mouth and chewing just enough. Marik winced and Bakura forced himself to slow down, mentally cursing Ryou for laughing at the moment.

As they exited the restaurant, Ryou spoke.  _We need to stop by the craft store. I don't have everything I need to construct the palace._

"Take me to the craft store, I need a few things." Bakura said out loud.

Marik raised an eyebrow. "When did I become your personal chauffeur?"

Bakura opened his mouth to snap back at Marik, but Ryou slipped in control and took Marik's hand, leading him to the motorcycle.

When Marik pulled his hand away, Ryou smiled and turned to look at him.

"You bring him back. I was trying to pick a fight."

"I know." Ryou pulled his helmet over his head in order to end the conversation.

Marik pushed his hands into his hips. "I'm only taking you to the craft store because I'm bored."

"Thank you, Marik."

Marik snorted and slung his leg over the bike. The craft store was across the street from the park and after Ryou bought what he needed, he stored the bag and walked across the street without saying anything. Marik chased him, giving Ryou's shoulder a playful shove as he ran past him. Ryou caught his balance, laughing and racing Marik up and then back down the hill. When he caught up to Marik he pushed him. Marik barely stumbled as he ran, shouldering Ryou again. They circled around the base of the hill, laughing and trying to knock each other off balance until, halfway up, Marik tackled Ryou into the grass, sending them both rolling the rest of the way down. Marik landed on top of Ryou.

" _Would_  it bother you if I kissed you in public?" Marik brushed stray blades of grass out of Ryou's hair.

"Um." Ryou surveyed the park, at the moment it was empty. "It's okay as long as no one from the museum saw us. It's not too far away."

Marik tilted his head, confused. "The museum?"

"My father works there. He's at a dig in Peru right now, but if his co-workers saw us they'd spread rumors."

Marik smirked, still laying on top of Ryou. "Oh, I see. Ashamed of me, are you?"

"No." Ryou shook his head. "I just don't think that's something you should find out about your son over the phone from a work associate."

Marik snickered. "Even if your father was in town, it's not like you'd introduce me to him."

"I would if you were serious about wanting to meet him, but you're just fucking with me, and by the time he's back from Peru you'll have already left." Ryou shifted his gaze away from Marik. "I doubt you'll even say goodbye."

Marik started at Ryou's words as if he'd been slapped. He raised himself up and sat in the grass. "Maybe I'll stay."

"You never stay anywhere for very long, do you?"

Marik winked at him. "Maybe I will stay. To prove you wrong."

Ryou sighed and stood up. "I wish that were true. Take me to the supermarket so I can buy the things I need to make your sushi."

They stayed quiet at the supermarket. Only Bakura spoke, teasing Ryou. He tried convincing Ryou to steal the nori. Not any of the other ingredients, just the nori, which somehow pissed Ryou off more than if Bakura seized control of their body and stole everything himself. Then Ryou had the odd, tickling realization that Bakura was doing it on purpose and he laughed out loud, drawing a sharp stare from Marik. Aware that he'd laughed too loud at seemingly nothing, Ryou blushed and shrugged, staring at the ground and scolding Bakura, who laughed without remorse in the back of their mind as loud as he pleased. They stole the nori and paid for the other ingredients.

Back at the apartment, Ryou tossed his craft bag next to his game table and went to the kitchen to put away the groceries. He started the rice and went back into the living room while it steamed. Marik pushed Ryou, slamming him into the couch cushions and laying on top of him. "Fuck you. Maybe I really will stay to prove you wrong."

Ryou looked up into Marik's broody expression. He smiled and brushed the tip of his nose against Marik's cheek. "That would be nice."

"But you don't believe me."

"I wish I did."

"Then tell Bakura to stop saying whatever he's saying—"

Ryou pressed a finger against Marik's lips to silence him. By the look on Marik's face, Ryou could tell no one had silenced him before. Ryou shook his head. "He's not saying anything. He's just nodding in agreement with me."

"Well, why would I stay?" Marik asked. "Don't you get it? He's just using you to build that damn model of Egypt. Once it's complete he's going to take control, challenge the Pharaoh to a Shadow Game, and try to destroy everything. He's had it planned since before Battle City. I saw it in his mind before I gave the Ring back to the Pharaoh."

Ryou didn't need the guilty silence in the back of his mind to know Marik spoke the truth. He sighed and frowned. "I know. I've known that since the first day we started making it."

"Then why did you help him?"

"I thought maybe if we worked on it together I'd learn something about him. That maybe I could fix things somehow." Ryou averted his eyes. "Yugi's so close to his Other Self; I wanted to know what that was like. But we couldn't talk to each other. It was too hard. He was lost and it wasn't until you came back that he started remembering things, until he became . . .  _himself_. I don't know how to explain." Ryou looked up at Marik. "Now it's a different game with different rules. A better game."

Ryou reached up and pulled Marik's face lower. He kissed Marik's forehead, moving to his cheeks and finally his lips. "Thank you," Ryou whispered. "Maybe you'll stay and maybe you'll take off two weeks from now. Either way, I'm glad he opened the door that day and let you push your way inside."

Marik knotted his hands into Ryou's hair. The heavy strands bunched in his fists but smoothed back down when he released his hold. Ryou swiveled his tongue into Marik's mouth, enjoying the smooth inner lining of Marik's lip against his tongue and the sweet taste of Marik's saliva. They kissed for a long time, long enough for the light shining through the window to slant deeper into the living-room. Marik's hand slipped under Ryou's shirt, up to his chest, down his ribs. Marik tucked his hand under Ryou's back and rubbed small, delicate circles over the bruise that had already faded to a dull, china blue. Next, he worked his fingers below the belt line of Ryou's jeans, tugging at them twice before unsnapping the button.

Ryou kept his lips pressed against Marik: his mouth, his neck, the tops of his shoulders. Ryou kissed each section of Marik methodically as Marik peeled the clothes away from Ryou's body. Ryou wiggled lower on the couch so he could raise the hem of Marik's shirt and feel hard muscle and skin against his lips and tongue. He inched up Marik's stomach, rolling the shirt up higher each time until it was bunched around his arms and Marik pulled it away from his head and loomed over Ryou, bare-chested and growing impatient.

Marik ripped off his pants and pulled the bottle of lube from underneath the cushions. Marik chuckled at the bottle. "So, Ryou?" he asked, sounding casual. "How long have you and Bakura been fooling around with each other?"

Ryou felt his cheeks heat at the question. "It wasn't really with each other. More like by ourselves at the same time."

"Oh, is that how you justified it?"

Ryou's cheeks burned hotter and he exhaled his explanation in a quick rush of breath. "I mean, I tried taking the Ring off, but he'd scream at me every time I did that, and then I tried not doing it at all and that was driving me crazy. So one night it was hot and I couldn't sleep so we just kinda did it real quick because we both wanted to sleep, but it wasn't so bad so we, y'know, experimented from there and – and dammit, I bet Yugi does it, too!"

Marik laughed hard, rolling off the sofa and onto the carpet. Bakura scowled in the back of Ryou's mind at the thought of Yugi and the Pharaoh.

Marik rested his elbow on the sofa. "And how often do you imagine what Yugi and the Pharaoh do at night, Ryou?"

Ryou covered his face with both hands. He realized he smelt burning grains of rice. "Shit!" He jumped off the sofa and ran, naked, into the kitchen. He pulled the pot off the burner and opened the lid, fanning stream away and inspecting the rice with a wooden paddle. "The bottom's scorched, but I think I can salvage most of this."

Ryou dumped the usable rice into a bin to cool and soaked the pot in the sink.

"What are you doing?" Marik stood up, lube still in hand as he followed Ryou into the kitchen.

"Making sushi."

"Oh no you don't." Marik lifted Ryou into the air and sat him down on the counter.

"Marik, I'm going to roll the sushi on this counter."

"I'll clean it when I'm done with you." Marik rubbed the circular edge of Bakura's Ring with his thumb as he kissed Ryou's chest around the artifact.

Ryou squirmed under Marik's touches, his lost erection resurrecting itself. "I'll be too tired to make sushi."

"I'll buy some."

"But the bet. Besides, I like cooking."

"You'll like this more." Marik doused his fingers in lubrication and fingered Ryou with one hand while toying with Ryou's tip with the other hand.

Ryou's squirming changed to mild bucking. He leaned his head back and pushed his hips forward. Marik purred in his ear as he stimulated him. Ryou exhaled, hiking his legs over Marik's shoulders and pressing his hands against the counter for balance. "Okay, I suppose you can order sushi for dinner."

"Did you just give me permission?" Marik snorted, pulling his hands away from Ryou's body.

Ryou gave him a wide smile, his eyes closed and his expression harmless. "Oh? Did you want me to prepare dinner after all?"

Marik hoisted Ryou back into the air, Ryou had to wrap his arms around Marik's neck and his legs around Marik's back to keep balance. Ryou's legs pressed against the lower range of Marik's scars.

"Don't talk unless you're calling out to me." Marik wedged himself inside Ryou, still holding him up in the air.

Ryou did call out, his body weight pressing down on Marik's girth. He could only hold on, muffling his shouts by pressing his mouth into Marik's shoulder. Marik grabbed Ryou's ass and pumped his body up and down.

"Oh please," Ryou gasped into Marik's ear.

Marik slowed down his movement to torment Ryou.

"Marik, please!"

Marik slammed Ryou against the refrigerator. The action hit Ryou's bruise but he swallowed the discomfort, too enraptured by Marik's thrusts to worry about a sore tailbone. Each time Marik pushed forward, Ryou gasped. He bit into Marik's neck hard from excitement. Marik grunted at the pain, adjusting his grip on Ryou's ass and slamming into him harder. The stronger thrusts caused Ryou to push his head back and shout ah's at the ceiling. He thought about the neighbors and tried to tone his cries down to lower, huskier sounds, but it was hard when Marik pushed deep. Marik's stomach grazed the length of Ryou's erection each time he buried himself inside Ryou's body. The sensation combined with Bakura's haughty screams echoing in their mind made Ryou's cries ring out uncontrolled, so loud that Marik leaned forward and smothered Ryou's shouts by kissing him.

"Stop screaming so loud or I'll cum before you." Marik grunted then swallowed Ryou's mouth with his own a second time.

Ryou's calls simmered down to loud whimpers as his lips pressed into Marik's. He pulled at Marik's bottom lip, squeezing his arms tighter around Marik's neck. Marik continued to move. Ryou curled and uncurled his toes. His legs stayed roped around Marik to help keep himself in place against the fridge.

"I'm really close," Ryou said, his voice muffled against Marik's kisses.

"So am I." Marik tried to move one of his hands, but it ruined their balance.

Ryou shifted, hooking one arm around Marik's neck so he could tease himself with the other hand. He held his shaft, angling his erection so the tip still rubbed against the sweat and pressure of Marik's body.

Marik's hard breathing became his own little groans, quiet at first but growing in volume. Ryou ejaculated; a rush of signals tingled through all his nerves. Once he recovered, Ryou readjusted himself against Marik. His hand brushed against Marik's back as he groped for purchase. "Sorry." Ryou winced, the sensation of scarred skin coarse against his fingers.

_Idiot._

Marik's breath caught in his throat, a strange noise exhaled from his mouth a moment later. Ryou couldn't tell if the sound was rapture or horror. Marik slid Ryou's body to the floor. Ryou tried to read Marik's expression, but couldn't. Sweat matted Marik's hair to his forehead. His shoulders and chest gleamed. All the muscles in his chest contracted; a spasm rippled across his deltoids and trapezius.

Ryou touched the taunt muscles with his fingertips. He drew characters on Marik's chest,  _breath_ ,  _happiness_ ,  _light_. Bakura took control of Ryou's right hand and added a final symbol,  _stay_. Ryou imagined they were using runes to cast a spell.

Marik lost his rhythm, his thrusts hard but irregular. His fingers dug into Ryou's shoulders and Ryou watched Marik's face as he came. Ryou touched Marik's lips. "Marik, will you hold me?"

Marik pulled out of Ryou and lowered his almond-colored body on top of Ryou's pale torso. He wrapped his arms around Ryou and used his milk-white chest as a pillow.

Ryou combed Marik's hair with his fingers. "You can mop when you clean the counter."

"You really know how to push your luck, don't you?"

Ryou ignored Marik, sucking in a deep breath. "I love how you smell."

Marik blinked at him. He knew how to deal with Bakura, an insult for an insult, but Ryou's compliment threw him off balance. He settled into Ryou's chest, caressing Ryou's shoulders.

Ryou grew thoughtful. "This was . . . kinda my first time."

Marik sat up and looked down at him. "But I thought—"

"It feels the same," Ryou interrupted, sitting up so he was eye level with Marik, "but usually it's like my hands are tied behind my back. I usually prefer Bakura taking over." Ryou stared at the kitchen tiles. "Because, I don't know, is it stupid that I still feel shy around you?"

Marik half-laughed, half-snorted. "Could have fooled me."

"But it's true."

Silence covered the kitchen for a minute; neither man was sure what to say. Marik giggled, his breath shallow and his voice giddy. "We're still on the floor."

"Guess I should try to make dinner."

Ryou tried to stand up, but Marik pulled him back to the tiles. "I said I'd take you out."

"You don't have to do that."

"And then you can mop the floor yourself."

"All right. That's fair, I suppose." Ryou chuckled, leaning into Marik's chest. He and Bakura both controlled his right hand at the same time, drawing the same symbol on Marik's chest repeatedly.

_Stay. Stay. Stay._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna tie you up like a baby in a carriage car  
> Your legs won't work cause you want me so  
> You just lie spread to the wall  
> The love you got is surely all the love
> 
> That I would ever need
> 
> I'm gonna take you by my side  
> And love you tall, 'til the world ends"
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

The next night Bakura found himself back in Ryou's soul room. Outside Necrophades raged, crashing against the walls without reprieve. Bakura stared at the ceiling. "Well, I'd say he's pretty pissed off at this point."

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah." They held hands. Bakura didn't like it, he felt like a child, but a soul room existed in the realm of symbolism and there was power in the act of them being joined together, power that they needed.

"Let me cast some buff spells first." Ryou held a staff in his other hand. He raised it and chanted.

Bakura felt a rush of adrenaline as the spells took effect. He held a dagger in his other hand, an extra tucked at his waist.

"Okay, I'm done. Let's do this." Ryou turned his head, his expression determined.

Bakura nodded. A door appeared and the room shifted to a battle arena. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. We're fucking idiots."

"Are you kidding?" Ryou smiled. "I've never been this excited before in my life. Let's fuck this bitch up." He let go of Bakura's hand and ran to the center of the arena.

Bakura grinned, realizing how bad of an influence he'd been on Ryou who used to never say anything more strict than  _dammit_. He slipped into the shadows with both daggers in hand, sneaking behind the monster. Bakura jumped on Zorc's back, stabbing his daggers into the sable flesh and twisting the blades. Ryou acted as a distraction, dodging attacks and aiming the few attack spells he had at Zorc's eyes. The creature flailed, all anger and claws. This wasn't the true, resurrected Zorc, of course, rather a representation of the malign intelligence in the Millennium Ring, but they would still fight him. They couldn't defeat him, but they could seal him deeper in the Ring, further away from themselves.

Bakura slashed with his knives and Ryou cast spells. It was a bad party – a thief and a wizard, no tank to do heavy damage or absorb the brunt of attacks – and they didn't have enough people for a fight this difficult. But they knew the game, knew the best strategies so that they wasted no moves or spells, and they knew how to cheat. Bakura knew how to use a small amount of his  _heka_  to fully recharge Ryou's spells. It wasn't as easy as typing a console command into a keyboard, but with enough willpower, one could alter reality in the mind, and Bakura had nothing if not willpower.

However, even with them both owning a Feat of Epic Stubbornness, there was only so long they could recharge themselves to prolong the battle. As the fight progressed, Bakura noticed Ryou slowing down, missing Zorc's attacks by a narrower margin. He'd run out of buff spells again, and Bakura didn't have enough energy to recharge them.

"Watch out!" Bakura pushed Ryou out of the way of Zorc's tail.

"Sorry."

Bakura looked at him. "It's time to retreat."

"Wait." Ryou pushed himself back up to his feet. "I need to cast one last spell before we do."

"You're out of mana."

Ryou dodged another attack. "I can convert my health to mana."

"Idiot, if you die in this battle you die and you don't have a copy to resurrect yourself this time."

"I have to do this, Bakura. It's worth my life. Cover me."

"Damn idiot." Bakura cursed as he did something shameful for a thief to do – attack directly.

While distracting Zorc, he heard Ryou call out the spell's name –  _Change of Heart –_  not a Monster World spell; Ryou was also cheating. "That won't work on him!"

"Yes it will!" Ryou screamed, holding his staff out to continue the spell. Something pulled away from the dark god, a ribbon of white expanding and swelling into a shape that, upon seeing it, made Bakura drop to his knees.

Zorc keened as white separated from black, and when the two were independent of each other the dark god retreated like a common, wounded animal.

Bakura looked up, still on his knees. Diabound flew to him, wrapping himself around him just as his  _ka_  had in Egypt thousands of years ago. He reached out, his hands shaking, and stroked the smooth scales. Bakura leaned into Diabound's serpentine tail, memories of training with his  _ka_  overwhelming his mind.

Ryou, also on his knees, hp down to one, crawled to Bakura. "He's beautiful," Ryou whispered, "your  _ka's_  so beautiful." He turned and stared at Bakura. "You're so beautiful."

Ryou fell into Bakura's chest; Bakura caught him. Ryou raised his hand and caressed Bakura's cheek, kissing him. Ryou laid Bakura down, the coils of Diabound's tail creating a nest in which they lay. Ryou covered Bakura's body with light touches and kisses, faint as the flicker of green bottle-fly wings. They slipped out of their clothes, never speaking – no ragged, passionate wails like when they were with Marik. Ryou worked quick and silent, like a thief himself, stealing for necessity.

Bakura gasped when Ryou entered him, slick from desire and thought alone since they were more thought than form. Diabound's form faded, returning to Bakura. The arena disappeared, replaced with the Ryou's soul room filled with a dozen Monster World dioramas, their Egyptian one was there, completed in Ryou's mind though half finished in reality. They ignored the games and family pictures and instead lay on the bed, Bakura on his back with legs raised out in a V.

Ryou maneuvered his hips. As he slide back and forth, he whispered in Bakura's ear. "I know your  _ren's_  destroyed. I'm sorry I can't get it back for you."

"Ryou." Bakura's voice sounded rusty as he spoke the name. His eyes glanced to the side to try to avoid Ryou's stare, but they kept darting back to him. Bakura swallowed. "You've already returned my  _ka_."

"But I want you whole." Ryou grunted from pleasure as he moved inside Bakura. "I can't return your original  _ren_ , but I can share mine with you. I know you've already stolen it, but I'm letting you keep it."

Bakura closed his eyes. He couldn't stand it, the image of Ryou's angelic face, earnest in his desire to heal a soul that was never meant by fate to be mended. "Ryou," Bakura whispered, his breath trembling from a combination of physical and emotional pleasure. The air seeped into his lungs, once again feeling like living breath and not the faded memory of a physical reflex. So he breathed and breathed and held onto Ryou's shoulders to keep himself grounded as their bodies moved.

Their mind-link connected them and as they moved and breathed together, their individual pleasure melded, bringing them to the brink together and pushing them over their edge together. Ryou sucked in a breath and held it while Bakura exhaled a loud moan. They stayed together for a moment, staring at each other but saying nothing since they were never good at talking to each other.

Outside, they felt Marik's presence interacting with their body. Ryou smiled. "We must have woken him up."

"You go," Bakura said.

"No. You need to go."

Bakura shook his head  _no_. "Everything in my mind feels raw."

"I know." Ryou kissed him. "That's why you need to go."

* * *

Bakura opened his eyes, even in a physical form his breathing felt sharp and new. Marik's lips on his neck felt the same.

"Marik," he whispered in the same rusted tone that he'd used for Ryou's name. Ryou . . . Bakura realized it would never again be Host, now that they shared a  _ren_  he could no longer objectify his other self.

"You cried out the most beautiful moan I've ever heard," Marik scolded Bakura, his tone playful and teasing but also wanting. "You guys can't fool around in your sleep where I can't watch."

Bakura stared at Marik, begging Ryou to switch with him. "It wasn't planned."

"Well, I guess not every dream is a nightmare."

"You don't understand." Bakura closed his eyes, swallowed. "We fought Necrophades."

"And no doubt won, ravishing each other in victory."

"Marik, please listen to what I'm saying." Bakura sighed.

"Oh my." Marik smoothed his pointer finger over Bakura's lips. "I think he's been a bad influence on you. Just listen to the language coming out of your mouth." Marik bit into Bakura's neck again and pressed his erection, already wet with lube, against Bakura's outer thigh. "Hope he didn't tire you out, because I want to see what it takes to make you moan like that."

Bakura sat up and grabbed Marik's hand, wrapping Marik's fingers on his hard phallus (his and Ryou's experience being in the mind, their body was ready for a physical manifestation of the act). "This is how much I want you." Bakura crawled into Marik's lap.

Marik' eyes grew wide with shock as he watched Bakura's face. "B-Bakura? You look...so...fervent." Marik's voice clogged in his throat.

Bakura trembled and hated himself for it. "Marik, I can't fuck you and pretend it doesn't mean anything. Not anymore. We won my  _ka_  from Zorc, and Ryou gifted me with his  _ren_. I'm more than I used to be. If we do this—" he turned away, "—it will not be fucking."

Marik stared at him, silence ringing across the room until Marik smiled and said, "flushed is a good look on you." He touched Bakura's lips and pulled Bakura's face so they were looking at each other. "So, that's how he got you to moan like that." Marik drew close; he moved as if to kiss Bakura, but backed away, as if he'd forgotten how. "Bakura," Marik whispered the name into Bakura's mouth. He closed his eyes. "Bakura I . . . I'm not going to leave, not in the morning, and not two weeks from now, and maybe not ever."

The words spoken out loud pulled all the air from Bakura's lungs. He felt as if the gods had stolen his  _Ib_  and replaced it with the wings of a giant hummingbird. "Marik." Bakura slid his fingers into Marik's hair, adjusting himself in Marik's lap so that he was sitting with his legs crossed behind Marik's back.

Marik tucked a pillow below Bakura's ass. They sat a moment, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together, and even that much made it hard for either man to breath. Bakura noticed Marik shook as much as he did. He raised his head up and brushed his lips against Marik's. They both kept their eyes shut and their mouths close together.

Marik guided himself inside Bakura. Bakura cooed and rocked his body in slow, small circles. They breathed into each other's faces, their joined hips and mouths creating a circle made from their bodies. Lost to all cognitive thinking, Bakura acted on instinct, leaning into Marik and wrapping his arms tight around Marik's back in a proper embrace.

It wasn't until he realized Marik wasn't breathing that he understood what he'd done. He tried to let go, but Marik grabbed Bakura's waist and pulled their bodies closer together. "Don't let go," Marik said, but his breathing rasped in his throat as if in pain.

Bakura squeezed him tighter, running his fingers along Marik's back, rubbing and smoothing his palms against the skin just as he would if Marik's back were free from the markings of  _Isfet_. Gentle sobs of breath hiccuped out of Marik's throat, but he wasn't crying, merely overwhelmed. Bakura kept his hips moving in tight circles, kept his hands soothing over Marik's scars.

They didn't speak, the only sound in the room was the creaking mattress and their breathing. Bakura's loins shuddered, Marik's tip angled into his prostate and with each swivel of his hips, Bakura controlled the depth and pace of stimulation. He felt energy circulating between their bodies, true  _heka_ , the magic that existed before the creation of duality.

Marik sighed against Bakura's cheek, arching his back against Bakura's touch. Bakura's pelvic floor muscle hitched around Marik's girth. Marik reached down and caressed his fingers along Bakura's shaft and tip. Bakura mewled into Marik's ear, delirious in the moment. The mental link Marik had with Ryou's, and by extension Bakura's, subconscious tingled, fed by the rotating energy flowing freely along the circle of their bodies. The connection between them bloomed, like a lotus in a swamp extending its petals above the mire to reach for the light. Just as in Ryou's soul room, Marik and Bakura used the thread of mental connection to pull themselves into orgasm together. Their breaths quickened to high pitched notes. Their movement became a song, their voices singing out, the rocking of their bodies set the beat, accentuated by their heartbeats. The music lifted up in a crescendo, reaching its climax, the last note ringing in the air. They watched one another in the dark, hands reaching out to faces, lips sealing together.

* * *

Marik fell asleep, a deep, needed sleep that night terrors had denied him. It lasted until morning, but as the room grayed with dawn he found himself back in the tomb. Hands tied, bit in mouth, mind breaking in two as the initiation replayed itself in his mind over, and over, and over again. The loop of memory always ended with Rishid, blood dripping from his face. Marik knew there was something he was missing, something about his father's death one year later, but those memories still clung black and veiled behind his mind.

Marik sat up in bed keening. Bakura pulled Marik into his chest, one hand petting Marik's hair and the other rubbing his back. Marik shivered at the sensation of being caressed on his scars. He wasn't used to the feeling of his back being touched; however, he liked how Bakura never tried to trace the glyphs or images, only focused on the curves of muscle or the trail of Marik's spine.

"Would you like to see it?" Bakura's voice was contemplative.

"What?" Marik asked, trying to cleanse his mind of his memories.

"Diabound."

"You can summon it?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Bakura grinned and nodded. Marik blinked and when his eyes opened an instant later, the room was filled with majestic white. Marik's jaw hung loose on his face. "He's beautiful." He reached out a hand to pet the pearl-white scales. Marik looked, and realized that the creature expanded past the room, disappearing into the walls. "He's huge."

"If I'd had access to him during Battle City . . . things may have been different."

"Yeah, we would have beat my alter ego and that means I'd be dead."

Bakura frowned. "I didn't mean it like that."

Marik tossed a pillow at Bakura's face. "I know," he said, standing up and heading for the shower.

They spent the day working on Bakura and Ryou's Monster World campaign. Marik used Bakura's sketchbook to make character cards showing stats for battles. After finishing a card for a character named Shada, he turned the page and felt his eye twitch as he saw a female priestess named Isis. "Is this my sister?"

Bakura glanced up at the picture. "In a way."

"Why did you put her in the game?"

Bakura sat a moment in silence before answering. "This campaign is based on what happened three thousand years ago."

Marik thought about it while staring at the picture. He remembered, when they were children, that his sister would tell him odd stories about a palace and a Pharaoh, trying to get him to understand why it was so important that he upheld the traditions of the tomb-guardians. She told the stories like memories more than fables. Marik sighed at the picture, setting the sketchbook down and picking up a regular notebook with lined paper.

He jotted down a quick letter. "I need to go to the post office."

"Have fun," Bakura muttered, attention still focused on his current task.

"I don't know where the post office is. You have to show me." Marik stood up and looked for an envelope.

"You're capable, I'm sure you'll find it if you ask around."

"You're going with me. Where's an envelope?"

"How would I know?"

"Ask Ryou."

"Sorry, can't quite seem to hear him right now."

"Whatever, I'll look for it myself." Marik inspected the hallway closet. Bakura tapped his shoulder from behind; his usual smirk lit up his continence as he held a box of envelopes just out of Marik's reach. Marik grabbed the rope supporting the ring and pulled Bakura close to his face. "Asshole. I thought you regained half your soul. Shouldn't you be nicer now?"

"I was never nice."

Marik nodded at Bakura's statement. "No surprise there. So are you going to give me the envelopes?"

"What's in it for me if I do?"

Marik let go of Bakura and set his hands into his hips. He shrugged. "I'll trade the Millennium Rod for the envelopes."

"I wouldn't fall for that line again even if you still had the Rod." A single snort of laughter escaped Bakura's throat as he dropped the box of envelopes onto Marik's head and walked away. Marik caught the box before it tumbled to the ground, pulling two envelopes out and stuffing the box in the closet where it didn't belong. Marik walked back to the table. He wrote his sister's address on the first envelope and stuffed the letter inside. He placed the letter and first envelope into the second envelope and wrote a different address on the front.

Bakura leaned over to stare at Marik's handwriting. "Why two envelopes?"

"I'm sending this to one of the businesses I used as a front for cash flow when I ran the Rare Hunters. They'll send it to her. This is how I used to inform Ishizu that Rishid and I were still alive while I organized my revenge."

"Isn't that a lot of work to send one letter?"

"If I send it directly she'll be on the first flight out of Egypt. So unless you want to be formally introduced to my siblings, I suggest this method."

Bakura gestured with his hand. "Oh no, by all means, let them fly out and stay for a week. I mean, we've had all this fun with one Ishtar in the house; I'm sure three would be even more delightful."

"Are you ready to go to the post office?"

"Who said I was going?"

Marik smiled. "Maybe I just want an excuse."

"An excuse for what?"

"To get you out into the sunlight again."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's just go."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, but don't you worry about a thing  
> No, 'cause I got you here with me  
> Mm-mmm, don't you worry about a  
> Just you and me  
> Floating through the empty, empty  
> Just you and me  
> Oh, graces  
> Oh, grace
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

Bakura sat atop the park table, his feet resting on the bench below. He used his teeth to strip a piece of dango from its bamboo skewer. "You know the more we do this, the more likely we get caught." He chewed the dumpling.

Marik sat on the bench beside Bakura's feet. He faced away from the table with his back leaning against the table edge and his elbows resting on the surface. "I'll let Ishizu know where I am as soon as I can get her to promise she won't hunt me down and coddle me."

"Yes." Bakura danced his fingers across Marik's line of sight. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to know that you're now roommates with the Evil Spirit of the Millennium Ring."

"I don't think that's a very appropriate title. The Fucking Annoying Spirit of the Millennium Ring, maybe, the Nerdy Gamer Spirit of the Millennium Ring, definitely, but evil? You might have fooled everyone else, but you never fooled me."

Bakura shrugged. "What  _is_  evil? I put that question to the Pharaoh once and he never did give me a proper answer."

Marik pursed his lips. "You know, I thought about that a lot during my final duel against the Pharaoh. I only survived that duel because Rishid made me realize that I wasn't just a tomb-guardian, nor was I some evil monster with an alter ego. I was a person." Marik sighed. "I know this is stupid, so keep your comments to yourself, but that concept – that I was a person – really was novel to me." Marik shook his head. "After the duel I went back with them because we were supposed to start over again, but Ishizu wouldn't quit talking about the Pharaoh's Ceremonial Duel. It made everything Rishid said feel like a lie. Like we'd always be stuck in our role as tomb-keepers, not people at all but objects existing only to help the Pharaoh. But then I came here and you . . . " Marik paused and looked away.

Bakura looked at him. He stretched out his hand and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind Marik's ear. "Marik," Bakura whispered, knowing he shouldn't say the next words but unable to stop himself. "You and Ryou are the only reason I remembered what it's like to be human."

Marik exhaled. He pushed himself onto the table so that he was sitting beside Bakura. "That's exactly what I was trying to say to you."

Bakura frowned. "For the first time in thousands of years I don't know what to do. I can't forgive the Pharaoh, but I can't challenge him to a Shadow Game anymore, not without sacrificing my  _ka_  again, and that's a price I'm no longer willing to pay."

Marik looked out across the park. "It's too bad the cherry trees have already bloomed. I'd really like to see them."

"No you don't. Those damned festivals are crowded, full of idiots, and it's still cold outside."

Marik smirked. "Hey, Ryou, you should take me next year."

Bakura snorted. "Like I'd let him go."

But Bakura knew it was too late; he could sense Ryou's thoughts as he planned hanami themed bento to prepare for when they went. Bakura tried to scowl, though the thought of combing stray sakura petals out of Marik's hair had a strange appeal to it. Bakura stood up. "We need to go home. We've wasted the entire afternoon here."

Marik smirked. "Promise me."

Bakura turned around to look at Marik sitting on the picnic table. "What?"

"Promise me we'll go next spring."

Bakura leaned towards Marik, their foreheads resting against each other. "I've made deals, but only once did I make a true promise, and I've yet to keep it."

"But you haven't broken it either."

Marik allowed Bakura to help him to his feet. They walked across the park with their arms hooked together. Passing the soccer fields, a stray ball rolled over to them and Marik kicked it back to the playing children. The sun still lit the sky, but it hung low in the horizon, slanting their shadows into long, gaunt monsters. Bakura watched Marik close his eyes and lift his face towards the breeze and the sight made Bakura want to return to their apartment as soon as possible.

"What are you making for dinner?" Marik asked.

"We already ate."

"Dango is not dinner, Bakura."

"Then dinner's whatever you pick up at the store because it's too late to cook."

"Store bought bento it is."

* * *

They ate at the table. Bakura sketched in one of his notebooks in between bites. Marik leaned forward to peek at the drawing, but Bakura shifted the paper away from his line of sight.

Marik set his chopsticks down and asked, "what are you drawing?"

"None of your business."

"Do I have to steal your notebook again?"

"Better not."

"Yeah? How are you going to stop me?"

"Marik, if you take this damn picture I will not finish it. I will toss it in the trash; I'm not bluffing."

Marik propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on the platform of his hands. "Now I'm dying to find out what you're drawing."

"If you die, you won't get to see it when it's finished."

"How long do I have to wait?"

Bakura smiled, peeking up from the notebook with his pencil still in hand. "That depends on how many stupid questions you ask me. At this rate, I'll have it done in a year or two."

"Fine, fine." Marik pouted.

He watched Bakura work. Marik noted how intent but calm Bakura's expression became while drawing, as if his pencil activated a valve that allowed the steam pent up in his system to release itself. Bakura used his fingers to smear the granite across the paper for shading, heedless to the gray smudges coating his fingers. Without warning, Bakura stood up and went over to the craft table where his and Ryou's diorama sat. He dug under the table, opening and shutting two other cases filled with various craft supplies before he found what he was looking for and brought a broad, black box to the dining room table.

Marik peered into the box, keeping his eyes away from the paper. "Are those pastels?"

Bakura grunted in agreement.

"I've never seen any of your pictures in color before."

Bakura repeated the grunt. "This is a bit of an experiment. If it doesn't turn out I'm destroying the picture."

"Like hell you are. You can't build up the suspense like that and then deny me satisfaction of seeing it. That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair. Now shut-up because I don't want to fuck this up."

Marik went back to watching him. A smile grew on Marik's face as the smudges on Bakura's fingers and hands brightened with color. Soft beige, bright marigold, powder blue, a deep purple and a vibrant maroon, Marik chewed his bottom lip as he watched the pristine, white canvas of Bakura's skin saturate with color.

"It looks like a rainbow ejaculated on your hands."

Bakura glance at his hands and the smears of colors snaking up his arms. "It washes off."

"Next you'll want to finger paint."

"With melted chocolate all over your chest."

Marik didn't expect the dirty comment, but it resonated with the thoughts germinating in the back of his mind, and suddenly Marik didn't care about the drawing. He stood up and walked around the table to Bakura's side, picking up a random yellow crayon and leaning forward. He drew a large, crude smiley face on Bakura's arm.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You won't let me look at your picture so I'm drawing my own."

"And you said I'd want to finger paint when you're the one doodling on me like a three-year-old coloring on walls."

"Like I'd have done that as a child," Marik said, not really thinking about his words. "For one, we never had crayons or markers, and if we did and I misused them – my father would have beat the hell out of me." Marik's stomach hitched in a bad way, making his intestines cramp. The statement conjured memories of dark hallways and the constant fear of laughing or even speaking too loud. Kernels of Marik's childhood exploded into his mind like corn popping in a heated pot.

When it was he, Rishid, and Ishizu, they would play games and laugh, albeit as quiet as possible, but if his father was in earshot there was silence. They were tomb-guardians; they had to stay vigilant; they had to prepare themselves for the coming of the Pharaoh. Marik remembered getting angry as he sat in front of papyrus scrolls and stone slabs, reading about the Pharaoh. He was angry that he couldn't get up and stretch his legs, angry that he couldn't go outside, but he always had to push the feelings down. Down into the dark of his thoughts, too far down for him to get to them because if he'd shown anger his father would respond with anger. Like when he was eight and–

Marik blinked. He realized he was on the ground with shaking hands resting on his knees. The yellow stick of color rolled under the table. Marik also realized that Bakura was on the ground with him, holding his shoulders, but Marik couldn't remember his knees striking the floor. He shook his head, disoriented. "Did I just black out? I-I-Bakura—"

"Stop it," Bakura ordered, "you're fine. You didn't change, stop worrying, you simply spaced out for a second."

"I can't let it happen again. I can't lose control. I can't."

"Goddammit," Bakura cursed, "I'm glad you killed that bastard, Marik."

At first Marik thought Bakura meant his alter ego, but then he realized that's not who he meant. Marik shook his head, confused. "You mean my father?"

"Yes."

"But he was my father, Bakura!"

"I don't care if he was Osiris – he had no right. If I ever,  _ever_ , saw anyone hit you I'd fucking kill them, and I'm glad  _you_  killed him. Sounds like justice to me."

"No, it wasn't like that."

"Then what happened, Marik?"

Marik jerked out of Bakura's hold. "You know I don't remember. All I know is what I heard others say at Battle City. Apparently I went crazy and my alter ego stabbed him."

"The fact that you still can't remember is why I think he deserved it. Gods, Marik." Bakura bent forward and planted small, soothing kisses on Marik's forehead. Bakura's lips felt cool against Marik's feverish skin and Marik leaned into the kisses, sighing from the relief they provided. Bakura's mouth lingered around Marik's forehead, but eventually traveled down to Marik's flushed face. Marik's sighs transformed into breathy gasps. He opened his mouth wide and inhaled deep breaths. The urge to touch Bakura overwhelmed him and he slid his fingers under Bakura's t-shirt, tracing the contours of Bakura's chest. Marik's fingertips caught Bakura's right nipple and Bakura pulled a sharp breath into his lungs. He exhaled into Marik's mouth, pressing their lips together.

Their fingers glided over each other's skin as their mouths moved together. Bakura moved to stand up and banged his head against the table. He held a hand to his white hair and cursed, and Marik laughed at the scowl on Bakura's face.

"Bakura." Marik stood and helped Bakura get to his feet without abusing the furniture. "I'm fine now. Let's go to bed."

"Exactly what I was thinking." He paused. "Are you really fine?"

Marik shook his head  _yes_. He pushed Bakura towards their room.

Bakura walked backwards, never letting Marik's mouth stray too far from his own. When they entered the bedroom, Marik eased Bakura down onto the sheets. They kicked socks from their feet, slid shirts up over their heads, and stripped the pants from their lower bodies. They lay there, Marik pressed on top of Bakura. Their hands refused to leave a single inch of their bodies unexplored. Marik circled his hips down into Bakura's groin; their erections pressed together. Bakura opened his legs, encouraging Marik to take what he wanted.

Marik reached over for their bottle of lube, kissing Bakura's stomach as he prepared to enter him. He held Bakura's base and flicked his tongue against the tip to hear the moan lift from Bakura's mouth as his hips squirmed. Marik pulled Bakura's shaft into his mouth until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. He repeated the action three times and, on the third, pulled his mouth away and guided himself into Bakura's body. They'd barely begun, but Bakura already moaned at the ceiling, his hands clawing for purchase on the white bed sheets.

The oddest thought slipped unbidden into Marik's head – that since he now planned on staying, he needed to purchase more colorful sheets. He liked the thought of Bakura naked, stretched out, and stark white on a backdrop of lavender or ocher. Marik pushed the idea to the side, the moment too exquisite to waste his thoughts on décor. Marik lifted Bakura's legs up higher. Every time Bakura clenched his inner muscles Marik felt the effect around his cock and he panted loud as he drove harder into Bakura's body. Bakura reached out, fingers continuing to trace up Marik's arms and over his chest. His fingertips dipped down to Marik's thighs and his nails scraped across Marik's hips. Marik's pants changed to ecstatic grunts. He watched Bakura's eggshell-white body glisten with sweat. Layers of color still covered Bakura's hands and the pigments bled into the sheets. Marik noticed the smiley face on Bakura's arm had melted into a bright yellow smear.

Marik almost laughed at the images, but stopped because he knew if he started laughing tears would follow. His chest hurt when he looked at Bakura, a beautiful, delicate pain that tingled down into Marik's fingertips. Marik leaned forward so that their chests could press together. Bakura locked his arms around Marik's neck and nuzzled his nose into Marik's shoulder, kissing his collarbone. Marik groaned into Bakura's ear, his pace increasing. Bakura continued to move his hips up to meet Marik, continued to clench his pelvic muscles tight around Marik's body, continued to brush his lips feather-soft against the crook of Marik's neck. Marik felt everything shudder and unravel as he came.

He continued thrusting as long as he could, until his dwindling erection could no longer penetrate. Marik pulled out and plotted out a trail of kisses down Bakura's body until he reached Bakura's phallus, still quite hard. He swirled the tip of his tongue against Bakura's swollen head, lapping and teasing the taut, smooth skin. When he sucked he did so slow, savoring each smooth inch against his tongue.

Bakura lay still and allowed Marik to do as he pleased. Only Bakura's hands betrayed his impatience, clenching the sheets one moment, gripping Marik's forearms the next, and then sliding up to Marik's shoulders. Bakura's fingernails dug into Marik's skin, at first careful and mindful of Marik's scars, but then needful and fierce. Bakura's resolve broke; he scrambled his fingers into Marik's hair, twisting and tugging his fingers into the strands until they were tight like reigns. Bakura bounced his hips up and down, pushing hard and fast into Marik's mouth while making what Marik considered to be his "Ryou noises". Marik kept his mouth open wide but his lips drawn tight, allowing Bakura to take charge. Bakura came thick and hot into the back of Marik's mouth. Marik swallowed, the semen coating his throat. Bakura crashed into the mattress, small moans still escaping his mouth with each exhale as he recovered.

Marik wiped excess saliva away from his lips with the back of his hand and pulled himself up the mattress until his was laying next to Bakura. He slipped his arm under Bakura's head and Bakura pressed his face against the side of Marik's chest. Bakura's skin burned and Marik looked down to see his bright red countenance, relaxed and near sleep.

Marik spoke, his tone soft. "It's hard to believe it's only been a little over a week."

A slight grin tugged at the top corner of Bakura's mouth. "Well, you know, it never takes long for things to escalate out of control when we're involved."

Marik snorted. He stared at the ceiling for a moment. "I feel wide awake."

Bakura grunted.

Marik nudged his elbow into Bakura's side. "Entertain me, Bakura."

Bakura rolled over to escape Marik's prodding elbow. "Thought that's what I just did."

Marik reached over and twisted a strand of Bakura's hair into a rope. "If I sleep . . . I'll dream."

Bakura rolled back towards Marik. "Have you ever played Renju?"

"No, but I bet I'm beating you at it by the end of the night."

A smirk twisted the corner of Bakura's lip as game-lust lit up his brown eyes. "Get Ryou's Go board and I'll make tea."

They sprung from the bed and raced out the room, eager to compete against each other.

* * *

*****AN: Just think of what Bakura's Deviant Art account would look like.*****


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, when the world ends  
> We'll be burning one  
> When the world ends, yeah,  
> We'll be sweet makin' love  
> Oh, you know when the world ends  
> I'm going to take you aside and say  
> Let's watch it fade away, fade away  
> Ah, the world's done  
> Ours just begun  
> It's done  
> Ours just begun
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, "When the World Ends"

He was outside. The young version of Marik ran with arms stretched wide. Ishizu called after him to slow down and stay close so they didn't get separated when they reached the nearest village. They had two hours. Marik wanted to obey her, but the thrill in his chest demanded that he stampede forward like a wild, golden colt. Only two hours. The hot sun seared his skin, beading sweat on his face. A breeze kissed passed him, sending an excited shiver down Marik's spine as the air cooled his skin. Better than the light, the heat, the wind, or the giddy expanse of openness all around him, were the scents of the surface. The air in the tomb, stilted and dead, suffocated Marik. Every day he died, drowning in the stillness known only in the homes of the dead, but above ground everything smelt new - like resurrection from the grave.

They reached the village and the images and sounds within the crowd overwhelmed Marik. He skirted from one stall to the next, trying to absorb everything he saw, heard, and felt. He wanted to dissolve into the crowd, become a part of the life thrumming around him, but in the back of his mind Marik new he'd have to bury himself back under the earth, and the knowledge left an acidic taste in his throat even as he ran free through the streets.

His favorite moment was discovering a tattered magazine with a picture of a motorcycle. He wanted to experience the rush of the world blear past him as he rode one. After abandoning the tomb with Rishid and founding the Ghouls, Marik experienced various modes of transportation; ships, jets, limos, but those vehicles locked you into a small, steel cage. With a motorcycle, the air clung to your body as miles sped past as if they were but daydreams in the back of your mind.

A man stood in the market; he stared at Marik and Ishizu. Marik froze, dread solidifying in the bed of his stomach.

The man continued to stare at Marik and then Ishizu. "Tomb-guardians, from now on your fate will be a tragedy of blood that will split your bloodline apart . . . this is all the will of the Pharaoh."

Marik tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He blinked and the stranger wearing items, similar to the ones his family protected, disappeared. "Sister, where did that man go?" Marik mentioned the stranger's items to his sister and she scolded him.

"We're going home right now, Marik."

"I know." Marik had to jog to keep up with his older sister. "But can I at least keep this picture?" He held up the magazine.

Ishizu didn't answer; her eyes set in the direction of the tomb. As she opened the trap door that would bury them back underground with the dead, Marik sat on a rock, clutching the image of the motorcycle in his hands. He pretended he didn't have to be a tomb-guardian, didn't have to go underground ( _never again, never again, never again)._ He was going to drive away, drive away on a motorcycle, his siblings could go with him. They'd be happy.

"Marik!"

"I know." Marik jumped off of the rock and followed his sister back underground. Marik's memory grew black as they ran down the stone steps.

* * *

Ryou caressed Marik's face as he slept. By the twisted expression, Ryou knew Marik suffered from another night terror, but it seemed mild compared to his others so Ryou let him sleep. When Marik did open his eyes, Ryou looked down and smiled. "Good morning."

"Hey," Marik said, his voice thick.

Ryou opened his mouth to ask Marik if he was all right, but realized the stupidity in the question and instead held up a picture frame – the back facing Marik so he couldn't see the picture inside. "He got up really early this morning and finished it. I found a frame; it's too good to leave in a sketchbook."

Marik stared at the frame. "Why are you showing it to me?"

Ryou giggled. "He's nervous. Isn't that adorable?"

_I am not nervous or adorable, shut your fucking face before I shove your head in a toilet._

"Especially when he's mad," Ryou added, "he's so cute when he's pissed off that I want to cuddle him, and braid his hair, and read him love poetry."

Ryou felt his body jerk as Bakura threatened to take control. It tickled and Ryou laughed. "Okay, okay. I'll stop teasing you." He glanced up and noticed Marik's wide smile which made any flack he might catch from Bakura worth it.

"So? The picture?"

Ryou passed it face-down to Marik. Marik flipped the drawing right side up so he could admire the picture. One hand reached up to cover his mouth as he stared at the artwork in the frame. He looked up at Ryou. "It's . . . me?"

"Yes." Ryou nodded. "That's how you looked – that first day at the park."

Marik stared at the drawing, tracing the yellow flames of hair spilling from the ponytail. That's how Bakura drew Marik, like fire – skin like molten copper, hair like yellow flames, shirt like dark maroon embers. The colors were more fierce and more beautiful than the very fires of Ra that destroyed them during Battle City.

Marik clutched the picture to his chest, just as he'd once clutched a dirty magazine because of a picture of a motorcycle. With his free hand, Marik reached to the back of Ryou's head and pulled him closer, kissing him. "Bakura," Marik said in between kissing, "get out here so I can say thank you."

"He won't do it," Ryou said.

Marik continued to kiss Ryou, knowing both of them felt his lips and tongue and breath. "Bakura, I said get out here."

"I'll help." Ryou mentally pushed Bakura to the surface level of their mind, filling the backspace with his own consciousness.

"Dammit, Ryou," Bakura cursed, his words muffled by Marik's mouth.

"Quit being a chicken," Marik said.

"I just don't want to deal with any sappy bullshit."

"Thank you. I like the picture."

Bakura growled in response.

"Can't handle compliments very well, can you?"

"I  _told you_. I don't want to deal with the mushy gratitude crap."

"Can I hang it up in our room?"

Bakura toyed with Marik's hair; the expression on his face was soft although his tone held a sardonic quality to it. "You would be the type to want to stare at yourself from bed. Next you'll want mirrors."

Marik grinned. "I wouldn't mind them."

 _I wouldn't mind them either_ , Ryou added.

_Oh why does that not surprise me._

Out loud he said, "I should have never mentioned it. I think they just got voted into the bedroom."

A wicked idea flashed through Ryou's mind. The excitement of it made Ryou snatch his body back on reflex so he could speak to Marik directly. "Hey Marik, want to go shopping after breakfast?"

Marik nodded. "I wanted to buy some new sheets anyway. Let's get ready."

"And the park's on the way home. We could stop there and eat lunch."

"Ryou, I think out of the three of us, you're the better one at scheming."

"Never trust the quiet, shy ones."

* * *

They spent the morning shopping, the afternoon wasting time outside, and the evening working on Monster World. When they went to bed, Ryou smoothed his hands over the new lavender sheets. "You like flower colors because they remind you of being outside, right?"

Marik fussed with his picture, guaranteeing that it was straight on the wall. He glanced back and watched Ryou before nodding his head in reply. Satisfied that the picture hung straight, Marik walked to the bed and dropped down beside Ryou.

Ryou reached his fingers out and brushed them over Marik like he did that first afternoon, only this time Marik was awake and Ryou didn't have to worry about getting caught touching him. As Ryou twirled his fingers around Marik's earring, Marik grinned and asked, "so, when it's you and Bakura, who—" He finished the sentence with a crude gesture, sticking his finger in and out of a circle made by his other hand.

Bakura laughed, but Ryou felt himself blush. "Why do you always ask  _me_  the embarrassing questions?"

"Because you react to them."

"We only did it that way the one time."

"Well." Marik's smirk refused to leave his face. "That one time, who was on top?"

Ryou played with Marik's hair so he could stare at it instead of at Marik. "Me."

Marik snorted. "I thought as much."

Ryou closed his eyes, remembering the evening they fought Zorc. "It was just the rush of battle, and we won, and Diabound was wrapped all around him, and I looked at his face – his real face; he's quite dark and handsome – and, I just acted on instinct."

"Do you want to swap tonight?"

Ryou opened his eyes to stare at Marik. "I'm sorry, what? I don't think I caught what you said?"

Marik turned his head to the side, uncharacteristically bashful. "Um, I'm curious to see how it feels the other way."

Ryou tried to swallow the heartbeats pulling up from his throat. "Oh," he managed to say. He leaned forward, undressing Marik and kissing his chest while working his way down. He didn't stop at Marik's pelvic area, he kept going lower, licking Marik's thighs and kissing his calves. When he reached Marik's feet, he started rubbing the pad of Marik's right foot, then his left. He'd surprise Marik's skin with soft kisses as he continued the massage.

Marik sighed. "You shouldn't spoil me like this. I'll become demanding."

"You're already demanding," Ryou whispered. "So I'll do whatever I want."

"You two always do."

Ryou smiled. "He and I are really alike in that respect, aren't we?"

Marik snorted. Ryou took the opportunity to swallow Marik's big toe and suck on the digit, twirling his tongue.

Marik stared wide eyed at the ceiling. "Oh wow, don't stop that."

Marik's response incited a shiver down Ryou's spine. He moved to Marik's other toes, Bakura whispering suggestions in his mind as they both decided what to do next. Ryou switched feet; his fingers trailed up Marik's leg. He flicked his tongue against the arches of Marik's feet and nibbled at his ankle above the heel. Traveling back up Marik's leg, Ryou paused, getting Marik to sigh as he licked the sensitive skin under his knee. He moved up Marik's thigh and gave his phallus a single, broad lick before dropping down to his balls. Ryou pulled them into his mouth, rolling one and then the other with his tongue.

Marik's sighs changed to moans.

Ryou stuck his tongue inside Marik, the skin soft and delicate. He pushed in and out, withdrawing and twirling around Marik's asshole, and then stretched his tongue out as far as it could reach into Marik's body. Saliva dripped down Ryou's chin, but he refused to stop, encouraged by Marik's moans. When Marik's cries grew loud and needful, Ryou reached for the lube. He also found a plug under the mattress. The smooth plug glided into Marik's body without effort. He sucked on Marik's tip as he prepared him with the plug.

"I-I can't last like this," Marik whispered.

Ryou stopped stimulating Marik with his mouth. He pulled the plug away and squeezed more lubrication from the bottle. He lined himself up with Marik's opening, but Marik clenched his body on reflex. Ryou petted Marik stomach. "Relax."

"I am relaxed," Marik snapped.

Ryou tried again. He managed to press inside but didn't like the expression on Marik's face. Ryou grabbed Marik by the waist and pulled him up; at the same time, Ryou laid back so that Marik straddled him.

"What are you doing?" Marik held onto Ryou's shoulders for balance.

"Let's do it like this. That way you can still be in charge."

Marik looked flustered. He stared at his portrait on the wall and the mirror they'd hung up that afternoon. "I was trying not to be in charge for once."

"You know, in a way, you're more vulnerable like this. You get to control the movements, but I'll be able to see everything you do." Ryou smiled. "Every reaction you have."

Marik rolled his eyes, shoving a pillow over Ryou's face. Ryou removed the pillow in time to see as well as feel Marik slide down fully onto his erection. Marik grunted and Ryou gasped. Marik looked down at Ryou's face and smiled. "I haven't even started yet and you're already blushing."

Ryou didn't answer; he felt the heat on his face and knew Marik spoke the truth.

Marik rested his hands on Ryou's chest and started lifting his hips, finding a slow rhythm. "Tell me again?" Marik asked, "who's more vulnerable in this position? Whose reactions are laid bare to see?"

Ryou had that distinct  _my plan has backfired_  feeling in his chest, but he couldn't pay it much mind because the sensation of Marik wrapped tight around him. His thoughts turned to cotton candy, everything bright and sweet and airy.

_Have him look at his own face in the damned mirror._

Ryou smiled. Marik snorted at the expression. "What did he say?"

"He said look in the mirror."

Marik did. His own flushed expression stared back at him; he seemed somewhat shocked by the image, as if he never imagined his arousal so physically marked on his face. He stuck his chin out, defiant. "Of course I look flushed. I'm doing all the work."

Ryou took the remark as a challenge, jerking his hips up into Marik's body. Marik  _ah'ed_ , closing his eyes as Ryou's thrust further excited his nervous system. Ryou lowered his body to the mattress and then thrust again. The rosy color on Marik's cheekbones deepened to a dusty mauve. His lips also darkened. Ryou grabbed Marik's hips and continued to push up, Marik's ass still bouncing up and down between Ryou's slow, hard movements. Their separate speeds made movement for both of them a little awkward, but Marik steadied himself by bracing one hand on Ryou's pale chest. He used his other hand to stroke himself.

"Marik," Ryou groaned. Each time he pushed up he felt Marik's body tighten around him. Bakura shouting from pleasure in the back of his mind heightened Ryou's arousal.

Marik mumbled something inaudible as he ejaculated. After Marik finished, Ryou flipped their bodies again so that he was back on top. This time, Marik's body was relaxed from his orgasm. As Ryou rocked back and forth, Marik panted and moaned, his hair a disheveled mess against the pillow as his face glowed from sweating. Ryou trembled as he poured himself out and into Marik's body. Spent, he pulled out and lowered himself carefully on Marik's chest. They looked at each other for a moment – at their damp, flushed faces and their wide eyes – and then entangled themselves together. Limbs and fingers and mouths knotting around one another until they couldn't distinguish one from the other. Ryou kept moaning into Marik's mouth and the more noise he made the harder Marik's fingers dug into his hair and shoulders.

After some time, their touches softened. They caressed one another as if made of glass. Ryou realized he was whispering. He and Bakura both whispered to Marik. Sweet, beautiful words they'd never say in daylight, but in their room with the ambient lamp light softening the edge of everything they saw, they couldn't help but whisper, and Marik whispered back to them.

* * *

Bakura sat on the bed in Ryou's soul room; they'd fallen asleep whispering in Marik's ear. They both faced each other, looking at one another but not saying anything. Bakura broke the silence. "I want to reclaim my  _ba._ "

Ryou nodded. "That was always the plan."

"Are you ready?"

"Of course, but it won't be as easy this time, will it?"

Bakura shook his head. "No. We caught him off guard the first time. Now he's waiting and very bitter from last time."

"Yes. I can feel it, too. There'll be more than one battle this time."

"This is going to be a game of wills," Bakura said, "Us against him. Fighting, retreating, fighting, every night, night after night. Us or him. The first one to acquiesce fails . . . do you understand the danger in that?"

"Of course I do, but it's worth it."

"Is it? Ryou, if his will is stronger he'll take over your body and then all your stupid friends will be dead, and Marik will be dead, and we'll be worse than dead."

Ryou narrowed his gaze. His dark eyes trained hard at Bakura. "Then we can't fail. It's that simple."

"It's that simple now, but after days without proper rest? You can't imagine that weariness."

Ryou took Bakura's hands into his own. "And what's the alternative? To wait for him to attack? Shouldn't Yugi have already asked me for the Ring? He has all the god cards. He just needs the Items to regain the Pharaoh's memories, but he's stalling. He knows that returning the Items together will somehow end everything and he doesn't want to say goodbye to his Other Self. How long until Zorc grows restless and tries to force Yugi's hand? How long before we're fighting the same battle only on the defensive? I'd rather attack now."

Bakura grinned. "Then let's attack now."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're gonna dive into the emptiness  
> We'll be swimming  
> I'm gonna walk you through the pathless roads  
> I'm gonna take you to the top of the mountain that's no longer there  
> Ah, I'm gonna take you to bed and love you, I swear  
> Just like the end is near

A total of three months passed since Marik returned to Domino City. In that time, his nightmares expanded from his initiation to dozens of memories from his childhood that Marik hadn't realized he'd repressed. Both he and Bakura now remembered everything from their lives with one exception – Marik still couldn't remember his father's death. So many nights he ran through the tomb-halls, looking for Rishid, and as Marik turned the last corner – a hard black wall shut down his mind. The half-rested hours of night-terrors kept him in a state of exhaustion, and Bakura and Ryou's battle against the Darkness in the Ring did the same to them. They often went to the park, found a secluded tree, and napped beneath it – heads resting on shoulders, the sunlight and grass their only sanctuary.

Marik sat on the couch as Ryou and Bakura argued over what to make for lunch. Ryou muttered to himself like a schizophrenic. Marik stared at a letter from his sister. He'd finally told them the truth. All of it. Why he left, his nightmares, Bakura and Ryou – what really happened at Battle City and their current situation – everything. He stared at his sister's reply, particularly the first line.

_Marik, we want you to be happy._

He expected – he wasn't sure what he expected. At the very least he expected a lecture about Bakura being dangerous, but to Marik's surprise she'd already known most of the story, thanks to her Necklace. Marik stared at the end of Ishizu's letter.

_I used to see a future of darkness, and I feared we could do very little to change our fates. Nevertheless, because I couldn't change the past, couldn't go back and stop the darkness from entering your heart, I was determined to do everything I could to fight the darkness I saw in the future. I knew I only had a slight chance to save you and it may have cost my life, but I was resolute. Then Seto defeated me and shattered the future. It gave me hope. Perhaps this isn't the destiny the gods wrote for you, brother, but Seto told me that everyone has something they believe in even deeper than the gods – find that, and be happy._

"Ha!" Bakura, now in control, called out in triumph. He grabbed bread, vegetables, sliced beef, and seitan –the beef for himself, the seitan for Marik – and tossed together two quick sandwiches. He brought a plate over to Marik.

Marik reached for food and gave Bakura a tired smile. "Thanks." He sighed. "I guess I really should see them. I miss them. I just wish I wasn't so tired all the time. I don't have the energy for anyone, even them."

"Don't worry," Bakura said, mouth full of food, "one day you'll have all your shit worked out and we'll have all our shit worked out, and everyone can get all the awkward family nonsense out of the way." He swallowed and grinned, leaning close to Marik. "And, when that day comes, I just want you to know – that I'm hiding in the Ring and letting you and Ryou deal with it all."

Marik stopped chewing and covered his mouth to laugh. "Jackass."

"Not my family. I'm out."

"Fuck you."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "After lunch?"

Marik licked his lips. It'd been three days since they last had sex, lack of sleep causing their schedule to slow down more than either of them preferred. "Yeah, it's been too long since I've felt you wrapped around me."

"Shut-up or I won't let you finish your sandwich."

"I need the sandwich or I won't have enough energy to fuck you properly."

"Who said I wanted it proper? Improper is best when naked." Bakura finished his sandwich, washed his plate, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to the bedroom.

Marik followed suit and when he entered the bedroom he saw Bakura standing in front of the bed, turned away from Marik and undressing slow. Marik smirked and watched, removing his own shirt. When Bakura finished, his white hair cascading down naked, white skin; Marik stepped up behind him. Marik slipped his right hand over Bakura's stomach and cinched a fist of Bakura's hair, pulling Bakura's head to the side so he could brush the tip of his nose along the curve of Bakura's shoulder and neck. Bakura rested his hands on top of Marik's. He felt the rise and fall of Bakura's stomach quicken beneath his right hand as Bakura breathed harder. Marik kissed Bakura's earlobe and licked along the perimeter of Bakura's ear.

Marik gave a teasing thrust of his hips, just enough for Bakura to feel Marik's erection against his tailbone. He tortured Bakura with soft kisses against the crook of his neck. Marik allowed his lips to drag against skin so white that it made pearls and milk and snow all seem dirty-colored and dull. Marik slid his hand lower down Bakura's stomach. "Do you want me?" he whispered in Bakura's ear.

A soft chuckle escaped Bakura's mouth and he moved Marik's hand lower to his erection, answering Marik's question through demonstration rather than words. Marik squeezed his shaft, relishing the soft moans Bakura made in response to his touch. Marik kissed where Bakura's jaw-bone connected near his ear. "I want you, too." He pushed Bakura forward on the mattress.

Bakura landed on hands and knees and Marik stared at Bakura's body as he removed his pants and grabbed the lube before crawling up on the bed behind Bakura. He entered Bakura partway, preparing Bakura by inserting in sections, giving Bakura time to adjust before pressing further. At each step Bakura hitched backwards, trying to force Marik completely inside him, but Marik enjoyed Bakura's impatience too much not to tease him, and by the time his entire length pushed into Bakura's body they both were panting for breath.

"More."

Marik knew what he wanted and held Bakura's hips as he shoved himself into Bakura's body. Bakura lowered down on his forearms in order to angle his hips higher. Marik gave Bakura's ass a playful slap. Too soon he felt himself reaching a climax. Marik draped himself over Bakura's back and stroked him to ensure he reached orgasm first. When they both finished, they fell to the bed. They wrapped together in their typical embrace, Bakura's head on Marik's chest.

"I'm so tired." Marik sighed.

"Me, too."

"Maybe we'll actually sleep this time."

They both laughed because they knew they wouldn't, but that didn't stop their eyes from closing or their breath from slowing. As he fell asleep, Marik remembered what Bakura said.

_One day you'll have all your shit worked out and we'll have all our shit worked out._

The words seemed so inappropriate out of Bakura's mouth. Marik smiled despite himself, the comforting weight of Bakura's head warm against his chest.

* * *

A week later, Bakura yawned and stretched and scratched his scalp, loathing being awake. He sat at their game table. The stats on the screen blurred in front of his sleep-deprived eyes.

"It's late," Marik muttered, propping his head with his hand against the table.

Bakura sighed. "Should we go to bed?"

"What's the point? I hate lying down. It just makes me more tired."

"We're out of coffee again. That was the last pot we drank two hours ago."

"I know." Marik pointed to the Ring. "Can you tell who's winning?"

Bakura thought about the question. "Everyone's getting careless. It's a matter of who will fuck up first."

"Hey, Bakura?"

"What?"

"Don't fuck up. Just this once, okay?"

"What do you mean  _just this once_?"

Marik laughed. "That woke you up a little."

Bakura crumpled a piece of scrap paper and tossed the ball at Marik's face. Marik tried to dodge, but the paper hit his forehead and bounced onto the floor. Bakura grinned. "We're changing the ending. Did we tell you that?"

"What? To the RPG?"

"Yes. We decided there's no real need to follow history. It's our game, we can give it any ending we damn well please, right?"

"But what really happened?"

"I died, my soul stayed trapped in the Ring, the mother fucker that destroyed my village continued to fight the Pharaoh enhanced by Zorc's power." Bakura clenched his hands into fists. "Maybe we should go to sleep."

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Eager to fight Zorc now?"

"I am  _not_  a pawn."

Marik reached over and covered one of Bakura's fists with his open palm. "No, more like a tragic hero. Your flaw was having the hubris to try and rise above your station." Marik sighed. "Guess my story's the same, when I think about it."

Bakura closed his laptop and set it under the table, taking Marik's hand back into his own and staring at their hands as he rubbed his thumb against Marik's tanned skin. "You know, the only difference between tragedy and comedy is the reversal."

Marik snorted. "Comic reversal can be used once per game. It allows all dice rolls to be reversed, making 99 rolls critical hits and 00 rolls fumbles."

"You're starting to sound like a nerd."

"Only because I hang out with you every day."

"Marik, let's go to bed."

Marik shook his head. "I know it's four in the morning, but I don't want to go to sleep. I can't take the nightmares tonight."

"I didn't say let's go to sleep. I said let's go to bed."

Marik smiled. "That usually leads to sex and then going to sleep."

"I'm too tired to try anything too serious."

Marik frowned. "I know. Me too. I hate it."

Bakura cleared his throat. Instead of Japanese, he spoke in his native language. " _I want to hold you._ " He didn't look up to see Marik's reaction. Instead, he stood and walked to their bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the bed for a moment.

Marik pressed his hand against Bakura's back and gave a small push. "So are we going to do this or are you just going to stand there?"

Bakura spun around and scooped Marik up, carrying him to the mattress and setting him down on top of the comforter. Marik shouted when hoisted into the air, but laughed once he rested on the bed. In a soft voice he said, "idiot."

Bakura grinned and with the same tone said, "selfish prick."

Marik reached up and caressed Bakura's cheek. "Stupid asshole."

Bakura leaned down and plucked a single kiss from Marik's lips. "Arrogant bastard."

Marik pulled Bakura's head down to repeat the kiss. His fingers kept smoothing over Bakura's cheek; his other hand knotted in Bakura's hair. "You're so annoying."

Bakura sighed from Marik's kisses. He closed his eyes. His face leaned into Marik's touch. "And you're such a bother."

"Thought we were just going to cuddle?"

"Then stop kissing me."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Their mouths pressed back together, their hands slid across their bodies. When Bakura noticed the clock on the nightstand it said 4:53 a.m. He sighed. "I don't think I can stay awake any longer."

Marik scooted to the head of the bed and pulled Bakura into his chest, petting his hair. "I'm going to try." Marik chuckled to himself, kissing Bakura on the forehead. "You know, I think the only reason these memories are bearable is because you're here every time I wake up."

Bakura closed his eyes and sighed. "Don't talk like that when I'm this tired."

Marik grinned. "Why? Afraid you'll accidentally say something sweet back to me?"

Bakura opened his mouth to say something sardonic, but when he looked at Marik's face, the skin around his eyes bruised purple from lack of sleep, all he could do was smile and say, "maybe."

Marik kissed him, once, and Bakura's head fell onto Marik's chest. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he saw Ryou in their soul room. The shadows under Ryou's eyes were thicker than Marik's and Bakura wondered what he looked like to them.

"Let's just kill him today. Then we wouldn't have to worry about him being in the Ring." Ryou smiled, but the expression made him look exhausted instead of happy.

"How are you on spells?" Lack of sleep made it hard for them to recharge their  _heka._ Even summoning Diabound was difficult for Bakura, and for a wizard like Ryou, it made battle almost impossible.

"About half."

"We'll have to retreat early, then."

"We have to go until one of us drops to the ground. This can't go on any longer."

Bakura leaned forward and rested his forehead against Ryou's. They could fall asleep like that. Sleep, all they needed was sleep and they'd be fine. The two or three hour naps they'd survived on weren't enough; Bakura wanted to stay in bed for a week. Only Zorc wouldn't let them rest, not after they openly challenged him.

"You're okay, right?" Ryou asked. "You want to try and stay here while I go fight him?"

Bakura's eyes shot open. "Hell no, it's too dangerous to fight him individually. Worry about yourself and let me worry about myself."

Ryou shook his head, smiling. "I always worry about you."

"Don't."

Ryou grabbed him and kissed him hard. When they pulled away Bakura asked, "what was that for?"

Ryou shrugged. "I don't know. Luck."

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah. Seriously, let's just kill him tonight. Then our lives can be nothing but sleep, sex, and sushi."

"Sounds like a plan."

They entered the arena, the imaginary connected space between Ryou's mind and the Ring. Zorc lunged at them before they fully entered the area. They broke in two different directions, unsurprised. Ryou skidded to a stop, dragging his foot in an arch against the ground and kicking sand up into Zorc's eyes. Bakura utilized the opportunity to cut into Necrophades with his daggers. Myriad charcoal colored scars marred Zorc's opaque, black skin from their nights of battle. Bakura inserted the blades deep, drawing blood.

Bakura realized he felt better than he had in weeks. He also noticed that Ryou wasn't casting any spells. Instead he danced across the arena, distracting Zorc and giving Bakura opportunities for attacks. "That damn kiss." Bakura grunted, realizing Ryou had transferred a portion of his  _heka_  to Bakura.

Ryou pulled his wizard's shift away from his torso and used it as a cape, taunting Zorc like a matador taunting a bull. All the while he shifted his weight from left to right or twirled to a different location with hair trailing behind him like endless, white ribbons. He never stayed still long enough for Zorc to concentrate an attack.

Bakura didn't waste the chances Ryou gifted him. He twisted his blades into Zorc's body. Afterward, Bakura retreated into the shadows. Each time Zorc tried to swipe a frustrated claw at Ryou's dancing form, Bakura would lunge forward and cut into their enemy again, blades flashing silver before sinking into black.

A lucky strike brought Zorc's serpentine phallus too close to Ryou. It caught the white cloth in its mouth and Ryou had to abandon it; however, Ryou brought his staff down into the eye on the extension of Zorc, gorging it out. At the same time he used some of the last of his  _heka_  to drain Zorc's defense. Necrophades screeched, coiling his phallus close to his body. Bakura used that moment to summon Diabound, able to only because of Ryou's shared  _heka._  His  _ka_ attacked, using power he'd absorbed from Slifer over three thousand years ago during Bakura's battle against the Pharaoh.

Ryou called out his  _Change of Heart_  spell, the one he created to free Bakura's soul from Zorc's influence. Bakura covered him by attacking with Diabound. They saw his soul emerge, a bird of emerald, turquoise, and rusted sienna. But before Bakura could embrace his  _ba_ , before he could become whole again, Necrophades lashed a final attack, determined to kill Bakura before allowing him freedom. Bakura attempted to dodge the attack, but knew it was inevitable. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain of impact. Instead, he felt a push from behind and then his body slamming against the ground.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna take you up to  
> Well, I'm gonna take you down on you  
> I'm gonna hold you like an angel, angel  
> I'm gonna love you  
> I'm gonna love you  
> When the world ends,  
> I'm gonna hold you  
> When the world is over  
> We'll just be beginning..."
> 
> ~Dave Mathews Band, When the World Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Rules for Chinchirorin: You roll three dice in a bowl until you roll a double of any number - the third dice represents your score. An example in this chapter is when Zorc rolls two 4's and a 6. His score is 6. There's some insta-losses in Chinchirorin; if you role a 1-2-3 you lose, if you roll all 1's you lose, and if you piss (your dice go out the bowl), then you lose. There are also insta-wins; if you role a 4-5-6 you win, or if you role a Storm (which is any three of a kind besides 1's) then you also win.***

Bakura looked up and saw Ryou pressed against the sand, pinned down by claws. Bakura keened. Diabound shouldered Zorc's hand away and Bakura retrieved Ryou's unconscious body. He retreated, back into Ryou's soul room. On the bed they once made love on, Bakura ripped apart the sheets in order to bandage Ryou's chest. "You asshole. You asshole! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Protecting you." Ryou muttered, struggling to open his eyes. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. A violent, intrusive shade of red that Bakura only remembered seeing once before in the death of his village.

"Ryou, I can't stop this much bleeding. You need to cure yourself."

"I'm sorry, Bakura. I'm out of  _heka_ , and I don't have enough HP to convert my health to energy." Ryou smiled. "But, hey, free body for you if I die, right?"

Bakura's eyes darted across Ryou's face. He watched Ryou's skin change from the living white of an albatross' breast to the matted, flat color of chalk. Bakura didn't have any gods to pray to, the gods having become his enemies along with the Pharaohs, but he needed something to call out to. He prayed to his ancestors, to the spirits of Kul Elna. Not just his original village, but all those that came before them. Bakura felt something tight and sharp in his throat. Each time his breath hitched into his chest that something cut into him, tearing him inside. "Ryou." His voice sounded small, unshielded. "Marik will yell at me if you die." He laughed, teasing Ryo to prevent the sharpness in his throat from tearing through him.

Ryou laughed but the movement made him wince. His hair fell in a mess around his face. "I'm so sorry, Bakura. I'm so sorry."

Bakura cinched his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists. "Shut-up." He leaned over and kissed Ryou, hard like Ryou kissed him before the battle. He kissed him three times, but couldn't feel any of his energy shift over to Ryou. He opened his eyes. "How did you transfer your  _heka_  to me?"

"I don't know. I did it on a whim." Ryou shuddered from pain; a slight purple tint colored his lips.

The sight broke Bakura. His breath hiccuped out of his chest; his eyes burned until the world through them blurred and he felt the heat escaping down his cheeks.

"Bakura? Are you . . . crying over me?"

"No," Bakura insisted. "and if you tell anyone I'll kill you."

"Don't cry." Ryou struggled to reach his hand up and touched Bakura's cheek. He guided Bakura's face lower, wetting his lips with Bakura's tears as he kissed Bakura's face. This time, Bakura felt  _heka_  drain from his spirit and transfer to Ryou.

The tears stopped as Bakura watched Ryou after the kiss. Ryou let go and placed his hands on his hastily bandaged wounds and used a weak healing spell. The light returned to his complexion and his lips returned to the shade of wild roses. "I can't heal everything," Ryou whispered, exhausted, "but I'll live – thanks to you."

Bakura looked away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I didn't do a damn thing. You saved me."

Ryo frowned. "While we're stuck here, Zorc can take over, can't he?"

Bakura used his scarlet robe to dry his face. His expression already recovered as if nothing happened. "Yes, but our wills are still strong enough to reclaim control as soon as you can move."

"Will Marik be okay?"

Bakura smirked. "Marik can take care of himself."

* * *

Marik ran through the tomb-halls, searching for Rishid. When they'd returned from the surface, they realized their father had rigged an alarm to the exit. In Marik's room every object had been wrecked or destroyed in some way.

"Rishid," Ishizu gasped, turning and running down the hall.

Marik followed her, calling for the person he'd been raised to see as a servant, but had always thought of as a brother. His father was angry and that meant . . . but eleven year-old Marik realized he didn't know what that meant. When he tried to think about his father being angry in the past, Marik's vision blurred and a stabbing pain pierced his temple, but his room was in tatters and he knew he needed to find his brother. Marik turned the corner and burst into another room. He tried to scream but something constricted his windpipe.

"Master Marik . . . you mustn't come in here," Rishid begged, his hands and knees digging into the stone floor, his shift a shredded rag hanging limp from his body, his back a collage of lacerations. Looming above him, as threatening and deadly as the monster in every story ever told, stood Marik's father.

Marik's screams woke him. He screamed until he felt his throat burn but didn't stop. He couldn't erase the image of Rishid's wounds from his mind. Eyes opened or shut, Marik saw the injuries; saw his father holding the blood-covered knife. Marik sat up in bed, knees drawn into his chest and fists clenching his hair, and blinked, trying to regain control of himself.

Something felt wrong. Not simply the dream – the worst one he had in weeks – but something felt missing. Marik looked around and realized Bakura wasn't in the room. Marik wanted Bakura's arms wrapped around him and fingers brushing his scars. "Bakura?" Marik choked out the name, wondering if Bakura was in the bathroom, but instinct told him that wasn't the case. If Bakura could be there he would be.

Marik crawled out of bed, dressing in a pair of boxers and a white tank top; he felt too vulnerable and on guard to be naked. He crept down the hallway, silent and wary. Something small and black laying on the carpet caught Marik's eye. He bent over and picked up the hair tie that Ryou usually wore around his wrist. The uneasiness in Marik's stomach solidified into a heavy, oppressing dread. He tied his own hair back, feeling like he equipped armor before a battle and hoped that Ryou's optimistic views of white magic contained substance, because he knew he needed the extra protection.

When Marik entered the living room he saw Bakura sitting at the game table, as Bakura often sat, working on the Egyptian Diorama. Marik's breath caught in his throat when he saw him. He wore Ryou's face with sharper features as Bakura did; however, the expression possessed none of the confident, underdog swagger that Bakura carried with him through every expression and nuance of body language. Marik's hands balled into fists. He charged at the creature wearing Ryou's body and knocked him onto the carpet. "Where are they?" Marik demanded, shaking the imposter by the collar of his shirt. "Give them back, right now."

"You."

Marik felt himself lifted into the air and thrown. His back slammed into the wall hard enough to make it shake. Marik dropped to the ground, unable to move. He gritted his teeth and forced his head up high enough to see the false Bakura walk towards him.

Marik struggled to stand, but the force of the Ring held him in place. Being constrained sent Marik's mind into a panic, memories of his initiation threatening to overrun his mind, but he reigned in his instinct, focusing instead on Bakura. "Zorc, I want them back."

"Don't address me, tomb-guardian. Your usefulness ended when you sent your other half to the shadows and relinquished the Rod. Now you're simply a distraction, a mistake I intend to fix." He knelt on one knee, an oak-handled awl in his hand. He pressed the tip into Marik's throat.

Marik clenched his teeth, eyes locked onto Necrophades. "Then I challenge you to a Shadow Game."

He smirked. "You no longer have the Rod. There's no point in a Shadow Game."

Marik sneered. "Well, if you don't want to play because you're afraid, then just say so."

Zorc removed some of the pressure from Marik's throat. "What type of game?"

Marik tried to shrug but the invisible weight on his body impeded the movement. "A simple game to determine ownership. You think the thief is yours, right?"

"He is."

"I beg to differ; both Bakuras are mine. Give me three days to have them pledge their souls, their complete souls, to me, and if they do – I keep them."

"And if you fail? I already have them, so that's no benefit to me."

"Then you can add me to your collection. It'd be easier, wouldn't it? To fight the Pharaoh with a tomb-keeper under your control? Isn't that why you fed my alter ego with your darkness when I had the Rod?"

Necrophades mulled over the option for a moment. His lips cut across his face in a smile. "You do realize I still hold part of the thief's soul?"

Marik smirked. "Of course, that's what makes the game a challenge. Otherwise, I'd just ask for their souls and get them – that'd be too easy."

He snorted. "Pick a game."

Marik frowned. "I just did."

"Pick a simpler game, one of chance. If you win that, then we'll play your Shadow Game."

Marik ground his teeth, holding his breath. After a moment he exhaled and said, "grab a bowl and three six-sided dice."

Zorc in Ryou's body stood up and grabbed a bowl from the kitchen and the dice from Ryo's game table. He brought the items to Marik. They sat across from each other. Marik still had limited mobility because of the Ring, but he could move his arms enough to grab the dice. "Do you know the rules to Chinchirorin?"

Necrophades nodded.

"Good, then I don't have to explain. Let's roll to see who goes first."

Necrophades rolled a five and Marik rolled a four. Marik felt sweat mat his hair to his forehead.

Zorc held all three dice in his hand. He dropped them into the bowl – two fours and a six – the highest regular score possible. The darkness in front of Marik chuckled as he scooped the dice into Ryo's pale hand. "Too bad, tomb-guardian."

He winked and handed the dice to Marik. Marik ground his teeth, jaw hurting. He stared at the three dice in his palm, forcing his hands not to shake.

He held his breath, exhaled, and threw the dice, three . . . three . . . three. Marik leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed with relief, feeling drained. "A storm. I win."

Zorc furrowed Ryo's white eyebrows together in a scowl. He stared at the dice for a moment, as if he didn't believe the numbers he saw sitting in the bowl. After a minute he looked up at the wall clock to their left. "It's 10:53 in the morning. You have until the same time seventy-two hours from now." The awl dropped from his hand as he collapsed to the floor. At the same time, Marik felt the hold of the Ring lift from his body.

He reached forward, scooping Bakura into his arms and petting his face. "Bakura? Wake up, you idiot."

Scarlet highlighted Bakura's cheeks and Marik realized he had a fever. His eyes stayed closed no matter how many times Marik called out his name and his breath struggled in and out of his chest. Marik carried him back to bed and tucked him underneath a sheet. He soaked a washcloth in the bathroom sink and used it to bathe Bakura's hot face. "Dammit."

Marik stayed beside him throughout the day, rinsing the washcloth with fresh water and reapplying it on Bakura's forehead, and talking to him just to hear a voice in the room. Marik spoke mostly in Japanese, but occasionally swapped to Arabic if he said something he didn't want Bakura or Ryou to accidentally hear if they woke up.

He lifted the blinds and opened the window to allow as much light and air into the room as possible. Marik wanted to go outside. He felt trapped in the apartment, but refused to leave the bed. It wasn't until after six p.m. that Marik realized how dirty and hungry he felt. He sighed, trying one last time to shake Bakura awake, before finding a change of clothes and going to the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

Ryou's eyes fluttered opened and he realized he was lying in his bed. He could tell by the low light in the room that the day was almost over. Ryou tried to sit up but felt weak, as if his arms were two long cakes of taro jelly. He managed to shift himself higher against the headboard and then rested, a little winded. Despite the weakness in his limbs, Ryou felt good. He could tell he'd slept and the majority of his  _heka_  had been restored as a result.

"You're awake." Marik walked into the room, holding a steaming bowl in both of his hands. "I made you some miso soup."

Ryou's eyes grew wide when he saw Marik. "Are you okay, Marik?"

"Am I okay? Stupid, you were the one who wouldn't wake up all day long." Marik set the soup down on the nightstand and pressed the back of his hand against Ryou's forehead. "Your fever finally broke."

"Did I have a fever?" Ryou asked, touching his cool cheeks. "I'm okay now. I promise. That last battle . . . was really difficult." He made the corners of his mouth shift up in a smile. "But we almost got his  _ba_  back last night. I'm sure next time we'll do it."

"Where's Bakura?"

Ryou touched the Ring. "He's still asleep. Should I wake him?"

"No." Marik shook his head.

"Marik?" Ryou frowned. "Did I, did—"

"Yes." Marik sat down on the edge of the bed. "But you're back now, so it doesn't matter."

Ryou tried to read more from Marik's expression, but Marik's face was a mask. "What happened, Marik?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Saying that makes me worry."

"Don't." Marik unbound his hair and returned Ryou's tie back to his wrist. "You really need to be more careful with this, since it's so important to you."

Ryou looked down at his wrist and smiled. "He took it off, didn't he? Too strong for him."

Marik leaned forward. Ryou would have used the opportunity to steal a kiss, but there was something grave in Marik's expression that made him hold back.

"Hey, Ryou?" Marik asked.

"Yes, Marik?"

"You're fond of me, right?"

"Um." Ryou felt himself blush. He turned away although he knew it wouldn't help, that he was exposing more of his colored cheek by turning sideways.

Marik brushed his cool fingertips across the arch of Ryou's cheekbone.

Ryou glanced back at him, trying – failing – to be bold. "Maybe a little more than fond."

Marik smiled, his fingertips still tracing across Ryou's face. "Then give me your soul."

Ryou gave a small grunt of acquiescence, wanting at that moment to give Marik anything he wanted to keep the smile on his lips, but then he realized what Marik asked of him. "Wait, what?"

Marik lowered his eyelids, his voice seductive. "Give me your soul. All of it,  _ib, sheut, ren, ka,_ and _ba_."

"Hmph." Ryou snorted. "Why don't you just take it? You take everything else, body . . . mind . . . why should I hand you my soul?"

"It's sweeter if I can talk you into offering it freely. Besides, you said you like possessive boys, and here I am, wanting to possess your soul."

Ryou raised an eyebrow, more than a little lost in Marik's half-lidded gaze. "Go into the living-room. On my shelf above the game table is a glass case with Monster World figures. Bring it to me."

Marik sighed but followed directions, leaving the room and returning with the glass case. He admired the carved and painted figures inside. "It's you and Yugi and the group."

Ryou nodded. "Yes. It's because of Yugi's puzzle that I was able to start talking to Bakura, although it didn't go well at first. We ended up playing a Shadow Game against Bakura."

"I need that story one day."

Ryou rubbed the scar on his left hand, thinking about after the game. He knew he should have locked the Ring somewhere safe, but instead kept it beside him, not wearing it; he knew better back then, but never letting it get further than hand's reach of him. He held his hand up to Marik to show the scar. "He's right, you know. I did win that game."

"Did you cheat?"

"It's not cheating if everyone is cheating, and everyone else was cheating." Ryou lifted the glass away from the maple base. He picked the white wizard up and pulled him away from his companions. "Sorry, Yugi, White Wizard Bakura has left your party. I was only an NPC in that game, anyway." He restored the lid to the case and set it aside. Ryou took Marik's hand and settled the figure in Marik's palm, curling Marik's hand over the figure and kissing his fingers. "It's yours."

Marik looked at the tiny White Wizard. "A doll?"

"It once harbored my soul." Ryou leaned close to Marik's ear, whispering as if he spoke something forbidden. "Want to know a secret about magic?"

"What?"

"It's all bullshit. You can make it up as you go along. As long as you have a ceremony of some sort, and a symbol, and if you believe in those then you can do anything. For example, the Millennium Items: take a ritual, the death of a village, add a symbol, seven gold artifacts, and you have Shadow Magic. Or I can take a symbol, like a doll, perform a ritual, placing it in your hand, and now you own me completely." Ryou winked. "Or at least symbolically."

* * *

Bakura didn't wake until the next morning. He'd slept longer because of losing so much  _heka_  in order to save Ryou. Ryou told him about Marik's strange request.

_What do you think he's up to, Bakura? He was very specific that it had to be all five parts._

Bakura nodded. He looked down at Marik's sleeping face. Soon, morning would invade through their bedroom window, and Marik would wake up screaming from memories, and Bakura would be there to hold him, because it was all he could do.

_Did he say if Zorc used your body or not?_

_He said yes, but wouldn't talk about it._

Bakura frowned.  _Then he's probably on a scavenger hunt; one that he's bet his life on._

Marik whimpered, calling out his brother's name. He thrashed below the sheets and then froze, clenching his teeth, balling his hands into fists, and curling his knees into his chest. Bakura pulled the sheets away from Marik's body so he didn't get caught when he woke.

"No. No. No." Marik pushed the words out between his tight-shut jaw. He jerked up gasping. Bakura placed a hand on Marik's back, but Marik shook his head  _no_  and crawled off the bed, running to the bathroom. Usually he only choked over the bowl, but this time Marik did vomit. When he stopped, he sobbed; an arm rested on the lip of the toilet seat and his forehead rested on his arm.

Bakura didn't speak, but he didn't stand at the doorway like he once would have. He knelt down behind Marik and held Marik's waist in a tentative embrace, leaning his forehead against Marik's shoulder blades.

Marik continued to cry into his forearm. "I just wanted to go outside." He gave the sink beside him a weak punch. "Just once. Just one time. I—" He paused until his tears stopped. "So we made a plan, all of us. I pretended to have a fever so I didn't have to attend lessons. Ishizu and I were going to visit the closest village for two hours while Rishid pretended to look over me and make sure my father didn't realize what we'd done, but there was an alarm at the entrance and we didn't notice until we returned."

Marik lifted his head above his arm, determined to complete his narrative, and Bakura sat back and watched him speak. Marik wiped his mouth and turned his head so he could see Bakura out of the corner of his eye. "When we got back, my room was destroyed and we couldn't find Rishid. We looked all over the tomb. He was in the back." Marik stopped, fresh tears choking his words. "My father was angry because I went outside, angry at Rishid for helping me, so he hurt him. Cut him so bad we thought he was dead." Marik spun around and crashed into Bakura's arms. "And I can't remember after that, but it's my fault, Bakura. It's my fault, because I wanted to go outside."

"Marik, children belong outside." Bakura gritted his teeth as he held Marik. He exhaled. "Marik, I know it's a bad time, but I need to know what happened the other day."

"Three days to get your souls or I lose mine. This is day two."

Bakura winced. "You know I can't give you my soul."

"I know." A bitter chuckle stopped Marik's tears. "Back at the beginning, aren't we? Fighting a Shadow Game together we can't possibly win."

Bakura smirked. "I've always favored the challenge of impossible odds." He reached out and brushed hair away from Marik's face. "Marik?"

He looked at Bakura with eyes searing-bright from tears. "Yeah?"

"Let's pretend the world's ending in two days. That's probably not far from the truth, and just do whatever we want."

"Just say fuck it and go wild, eh?"

"Why not? You got a strategy on getting my soul? Ryou and I won't be able to fight Zorc anymore. We were too close last time; he'll stay hidden now."

"I'll think of something." Marik ran his fingers through one of the wings of hair sticking out of Bakura's head. "But until then. Sure. Let's pretend it's our last two days on earth."

They showered and dressed and ate cereal before they went outside. They didn't have a plan. Their plans always failed them and they didn't have the time to waste, so they walked without a goal and let the wind blow through their hair as they spoke of so many nothings. Bakura wasn't sure when his and Marik's hands reached out and intertwined as they strolled past stores and indifferent pedestrians, but when he realized his fingers were locked together with Marik's, he grinned.

"Heh, look. We ended up here." Marik gestured to the pier in front of them.

Bakura blinked at the glittering water and the side view of the city from the old, concrete dock. "Haven't been here since that day."

The tide lapped high against the pier. Marik took off his shoes and sat down, dipping his feet into the water. Bakura copied him. Marik stared at the water around his feet. "Wasn't completely myself back then."

Bakura snorted. "Me neither." He looked up, staring at the point where the blue of the water and the blue of the sky merged into a thin line. "I suppose I should give you the four parts I have, shouldn't I?"

"I only need your  _ka_."

"Oh?"

"Stupid, I already have the other three parts. You started giving them to me here."

Bakura leaned back, shifting his gaze to Marik. "How do you figure?"

"I asked for your  _ren_ , and you told me  _Bakura_. It was stolen, back then, but since Ryou's given it to you, it counts." Marik lifted up the sleeve to Bakura's shirt, revealing the scar and rubbing it with his thumb. "You gave me your  _sheut_ when you did this." Marik circled his finger around Bakura's chest. "And you gave me your  _ib_  when you battled my alter ego with me."

Bakura smiled. "I just wanted the secret on your back."

"You really think so?"

Bakura, still smirking, shook his head  _no._  He closed his eyes and waited for Marik to kiss him. Marik's lips felt warm against his own. He knew they should be forming a strategy, fighting until the last moment and trying to win; however, for the first time in thousands of years, time became too precious for Bakura to waste on battling. He didn't need a plan; he needed the morning-cold concrete below him, numbing his ass as he sat; he needed the water lapping at his feet; he needed Marik's breath sighing over his face in between their kisses.

They stayed at the pier for two hours, sometimes sitting over the edge, sometimes walking and staring at the water. They wandered away from the pier and back into the city proper, stopping and eating lunch at a small stand so they could stay outside. That morning Marik mentioned 'going wild,' but all they did was walk and kill time with idle conversation, and Bakura really didn't want to do anything else. As long as Marik stood beside him and held his hand and spoke into his ear, Bakura was content. They tried going to their park, but had to hide behind a cluster of trees when they saw Yugi and a large group of his friends.

Bakura grinned, teeth exposed. "We should walk up to them, holding hands, and say hi."

Marik covered his mouth with his hand to mute his laughter. "Yeah, we could tell them we're on a date. The look on their faces, oh shit, it'd be hilarious. Too bad you're a chicken and won't do it."

"Me? You're not walking out there, either."

"You go and I'll go."

" _You_  go and I'll go." Bakura repeated.

Marik shrugged. "Okay, let's go."

"All right, let's go." They stood and stared at each other for a moment before breaking down into another round of laughter, leaning against each other. Bakura shook his head. "But seriously, let's get the fuck out of here before one of those idiots really does see us."

"Yeah, let's go back to the apartment."

"I think we just gave Ryou a mild heart attack."

"Well," Marik said, "that's what he gets for telling me he was saving himself for marriage."

They snuck away from the park and headed home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "since feeling is first  
> who pays any attention  
> to the syntax of things  
> will never wholly kiss you;
> 
> wholly to be a fool  
> while Spring is in the world
> 
> my blood approves,  
> and kisses are a far better fate  
> than wisdom  
> (…)Don't cry  
> —the best gesture of my brain is less than  
> your eyelids' flutter which says
> 
> we are for eachother: then  
> laugh, leaning back in my arms  
> for life's not a paragraph
> 
> And death i think is no parenthesis"
> 
> Since Feeling is First (e.e. Cummings)

"Hey, Marik?" Bakura asked. They were in the bedroom, getting ready for bed.

"Hmmm?" Marik flashed Bakura a sly smile. "You have an idea of something we should do?"

Bakura bit his bottom lip. "Yes. Actually, there is something I've wanted to do for a long time, but never wanted to ask."

Marik's expression grew intrigued. "What is it?"

"Lay down."

Marik lay on his back and Bakura turned him over to his stomach. Marik glanced up over his shoulder. "You secretly want to fuck me with my face pushed into the bed?"

Bakura sighed, reaching under the mattress and pulling a bottle of baby oil from between the mattress and box spring. "This will be a lot sexier if you stop talking."

"Why baby oil? Are we out of lube?"

"No. Stop asking stupid questions."

"It's not a stupid – shit, Bakura, that's cold," Marik complained and gritted his teeth as Bakura squirted oil on his back.

"I was going to warm it up in my hands first, but you're pissing me off." Bakura straddled Marik's ass and began smoothing the oil over Marik's back.

"Oh," Marik gasped, his voice soft. His fingers curled into the sheets and he exhaled a soft moan as Bakura kneaded Marik's back. "This is what you wanted to do?"

"Yeah." Bakura felt Marik's ass hitch slightly and settle back into the mattress. He ghosted his middle finger down Marik's spine and then resumed the massage. His fingers opened out along Marik's lateral back muscles. He focused on Marik's shoulders, then neck, then arms, then worked his way down the back again. Bakura used broad, careful hand strokes, applying pressure with his fingers and palms in even gestures. Marik continued to dig his fingers into the sheets, pulling the fabric loose from the corners of the bed. He sighed and shifted his body into Bakura's hands; his hair splayed out in a golden halo around him. Marik's reaction made all the small muscles in Bakura's belly knot together.

Bakura wanted to draw out the experience, searching for something to pull his mind away from the blush on Marik's exposed cheek as he lay with his face turned to the side, or the tenor of Marik's voice as he sighed against the dawn colored sheets. Nothing drew Bakura's eye except the sight of Marik. He studied Marik's damaged back. The carvings looked beautiful, but Bakura hated them. "You know." Bakura's voice was thick and lush, like velvet. "I could vandalize these markings for you. Add some glasses to Slifer, a mustache to The Winged Dragon, feathers to Obelisk."

Marik hid his face into the bed as he laughed. He turned back to the side to speak. "Could we maybe change some of the hieratic so it says something lewd?"

"I'm sure we could."

Their banter faded as Marik relaxed into the sensation of his massage. Bakura applied more oil, this time warming it in his palms before spreading it across skin the color of fresh-ground garam masala. Bakura concentrated his touch on the lower half of Marik's back, gradually working his fingers towards Mark's ass and hips. When he tried to rub Marik's thighs, Marik started rocking back with slow, controlled movements. Bakura rolled his palms up Marik's back and raked his fingertips down.

"Bakura," Marik called out.

Bakura got away with pushing and raking Marik's skin three more times before Marik rolled to his back. He pulled Bakura to him, their erections pressing together, and kissed him. "Bakura, I need you right now."

"Then take me."

Marik sat upright. Bakura adjusted so that he sat in Marik's lap. Marik held Bakura's hips, bending forward and kissing above Bakura's navel. Marik traced the tip of his nose up Bakura's body, from the stomach, to the chest, then curving up his neck. He kissed Bakura's throat below the ear and jaw, pushing streamers of white hair out of the way.

Bakura's breath caught in his throat. "Marik."

Marik migrated his kisses along Bakura's jawline, barely touching the skin. "Yes?"

"Hurry."

"No. I want this to last all night," Marik spoke into Bakura's lips.

"In-inside me, Marik," Bakura whispered, one arm slung around Marik's neck; his other hand rubbed Marik's pectoral muscles in quick, desperate strokes.

"What was that? Didn't catch it all."

Bakura moaned, his mind nothing more than a thick layer of steam. At that moment, Marik could have gotten him to agree to anything, say or do anything; he didn't care. Bakura swallowed, finding his voice. "Please, I want you inside me, Marik."

"That badly, huh? You want me inside you bad enough to finally ask for it with a  _please_."

"Marik, you make everything difficult," Bakura hissed, but in his husky voice the compliant sounded like a compliment.

Marik held Bakura's face, forcing Bakura to look in his eyes. "I like hearing you, that's all."

Bakura didn't need the mirror hanging across from them to know that his face was the shade of a young rosebud busting out of its green prison. He held Marik's gaze a moment longer, and then Bakura leaned his forehead against Marik's. "Yes, Marik, I want you."

Marik reached out and snatched the lube off of the dresser, pressing his chest against Bakura's, who still sat in Marik's lap. "Say it again, please."

"I want you."

"Again." Marik lathered his erection with lubrication.

"I want you."

"One last time, Bakura, your voice turns me on."

Bakura twined his hands across the back of Marik's head. He pulled his lips close to Marik, moving them above Marik's lips but denying him the suggested kiss. "Marik Ishtar, make love to me."

"Gods." Marik closed his eyes, shuddering visibly. He lifted Bakura up and settled him on his back against the crumpled sheets. Marik kissed Bakura's top lip. "I'll do anything you want."

Marik entered Bakura and they both cried out at the sensation. Bakura held on to the back of Marik's neck and ran his feet and calves up and down Marik's body. They both moaned, and panted, and called out as they moved. Marik slid up and down Bakura's body. He arched his back, bending his stomach out slightly to grind against Bakura's erection. Bakura clung to Marik. His calves hooked around Marik's legs and straightened out in the air. He'd glided the pad of his foot down the length of the mattress, drawing a circle against the sheet with his big toe, and then Marik pushed into him hard and Bakura hooked his leg around him again, like ganchos in an Argentinean tango. They kept their faces close so they could stare at each other. By Marik's shy expression and sunburned appearance, Bakura knew he felt as exposed and awkward as Bakura did, but they were bound to the moment and couldn't look away from each other. Bakura brought a hand up to Marik's face. Their lips grazed together and separated. Bakura slid his hand down, slow and intentional, sculpting the outline of Marik's body with his palm.

Marik took Bakura's tip in his hand and began squeezing, still grinding with his body against the base of Bakura's shaft. Bakura shut his eyes closed and tightened his legs around Marik, gasping for breath and clawing Marik's back with the blunt ends of his fingertips.

"Look in my eyes when you cum, Bakura," Marik whispered.

A slight whimper of protest broke from Bakura's mouth, but he opened his eyes.

A breath shuddered from Marik's lungs as he looked at Bakura. "I won't let him take either of you."

Bakura nodded, he and Ryou almost believed Marik as an orgasm shot through them. After he came, Marik hiked Bakura's hips higher so he could move quicker. The angle struck Bakura's prostate, the nerves sensitive because of his climax. Bakura gritted his teeth as the pleasure blurred into the boundaries of pain from over-stimulation. Marik gasped soft  _ah's_  into Bakura's ear until he climaxed, then he shouted. Bakura held his breath so he could better hear the unbridled sound running out of Marik's mouth and escaping into the free air.

* * *

The next morning, their last full day, Bakura tackled Marik to the ground as he was changing. "What are you doing?" Marik shouted as Bakura began drawing on his chest.

"Giving you another tattoo." Bakura held Marik down with his free hand and sat on top of him to pin down his body.

"I have enough."

"No, you need this one. Stay still." Bakura continued to draw with a felt pen. Marik rolled his eyes and rested on the carpet as Bakura had his way with Marik's body. When he finished, Bakura stood up and nodded, satisfied.

"Jerk, I'm not your sketchbook." Marik stood up, looking in the mirror so he could see the picture. "Bakura, why'd you draw Diabound on my chest?"

"Well, you needed my  _ka_  didn't you? Now you have it and with that you've gone as far as you can in your quest since we can't get my  _ba_."

Marik sighed and traced the picture marked into his skin. The drawing covered Marik's entire chest. Diabound's tail curved down Marik's stomach and around his obliques, where it looked like it disappeared behind the images on Marik's back and reappeared on the other side, right above the line of his Adonis belt. A wicked grin possessed Marik's face and he turned so that his back faced Bakura, sweeping his yellow hair over his shoulder. "Well, you might as well finish."

Bakura blinked at the scars on Marik's back. "What?"

"Last night you said you were going to vandalize the Pharaoh's memories."

"Are you sure?"

"I hate these." Marik's jaw tightened as he said the words. "I want to mock them."

Bakura grinned, flourishing his pen. "You know I'm going to draw an oozing penis on at least one of the gods, don't you?"

"Do it."

"And Obelisk is getting a hair ribbon and lipstick."

"Don't forget the tits."

"And a thong."

"Do you realize how sacred these markings are, Bakura? The level of blasphemy we're committing by defiling them?"

"I love it when you talk dirty, Marik."

_Turn the circle between the wings into a King Slime._

Bakura chuckled.

"Almost done?" Marik asked.

"Just let me . . . yeah, I'm done."

Marik looked over his shoulder into the mirror; the black marks looked wrong layered on top of the tough scar tissue. Marik nodded his head. "I like it."

They ate breakfast and went to the park, bringing their laptops so Bakura and Ryou could work on Monster World while Marik wrote his sister one last letter. Ryou currently typed on the computer, working on storyline.

"Are you worried?"

"Not really."

"Liar," Marik said.

"Are you projecting on me?"

"Why should I be worried? There's always a loophole. I just have to find it."

"Then why should I worry?"

"I might not find it in time."

Ryou took Marik's hand. "Honestly, I think all three of us are so used to everything going wrong that the thought of you winning is more frightening than you losing."

Marik snorted. "That's true." Marik looked up at Ryou. "Can I cook dinner tonight? You always do it for me, so I wanted to cook for you, at least once."

Ryou nodded. "If you'd like. What are you going to make?"

"What do you want?"

Ryou pursed his lips, thinking. "Something from your childhood, but something you associate with fond memories."

"Then it has to be Kushari. Ishizu kind of used it as comfort food."

"We'll go to the store on the way home."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who said that love was fire?
> 
> I know that love is ash.
> 
> It is the thing which remains
> 
> When the fire is spent,
> 
> The holy essence of experience."
> 
> ~Who Said That Love Was Fire? By Patience Worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** AN: Between this and some of my other fics, I've read so many articles on Egyptian myths that I forget that it's not common knowledge, so here's a crash review on the Egyptian Soul. There will be a quiz at the end of this chapter (j/k). The problem with Egyptian mythology is that it's not very consistent; there were different sects and cults (much like the YuGiOh fandom), and their myths evolved over time, but for the most part Egyptians believed that people had five parts to their souls:
> 
> 1) Sheut - shadow  
> 2) Ib - heart  
> 3) Ren - name  
> 4) Ka - life force  
> 5) Ba - individuality
> 
> In Trigger, these parts are more symbolic because this is a story, but to people living in Egypt they were also literal. So, for example, the Ib was one's physical heart, so when they melt everyone in Kul Elna down into gold it's not just the bodies being destroyed, part of their souls went into the items, and we've seen what happens to what's left – they're stuck and can't pass on.
> 
> Also, Egyptians believed that you had to write, speak, or have someone remember your name to keep that part of your soul alive. If your name was lost, you experienced "the second death" (I'm mentioning this since, if you've noticed, there's only one name Bakura remembers in this story from his childhood).
> 
> Anpu is my cat :) More importantly, Anpu was the Egyptian name used for Anubis. I like associating Yami Bakura with Anubis and Ma'at because they were deities that involved death, balance, and justice. One of the reasons Anpu became a deity concerning the afterlife, is because actual jackals would hang around burial sites. (Again, explaining this because it gets mentioned in the chapter).
> 
> Okay, sorry this AN was so long. ***

They stayed at the park until the batteries died on their laptops and the sun grew orange and fat on the horizon. At the store, Marik noticed Ryou stealing a package of nori. He shot Ryou an inquisitive glance, but Ryou only grinned and shrugged. Bakura took over then, winking at Marik as if asking him to keep a secret. Marik didn't pursue the matter.

They returned home, Bakura curled up on the couch and read  _Maiden Rose_  while Marik went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Marik looked around the apartment, and the realization of how much he'd miss everything if he failed to retrieve Bakura's  _ba_  struck him hard. The sofa with its hidden treasures, Ryou's craft area with the finished Egyptian diorama (they just needed to write the ending), the dining room table where he and Bakura often sat and drank tea and argued about nothing just for the entertainment of arguing. Even the kitchen, where Marik knew the location of every pot and pan, overran him with memories. Marik had spent hours watching Ryou cut vegetables to prepare meals. He and Bakura often raided the fridge at two in the morning to stay awake because Marik didn't want to go to sleep and have nightmares. Marik didn't think there was a single foot of floor, wall, counter, or furniture in the entire apartment that they hadn't made out against, fucked on, or in some way marked with pleasant experiences.

He couldn't give it up. If Marik lost he'd be trapped again. This time his own body would be the tomb imprisoning him, and worse, Bakura would be gone. Marik's hands started shaking. He tried to think of a plan, but the probability of losing kept nagging at his thoughts. He didn't want to deal with it. His mind kept pushing the situation to the back of his thoughts.

Marik grit his teeth, stirring lentils in one pot and tomato sauce in another, and forced himself to stay in the present instead of compressing everything thought of what Ryou said about symbols and ceremonies. Hadn't that been how Bakura gave Marik his  _ka_? The ceremony, tackling Marik to the ground and drawing on him, and then the symbol, the picture of Diabound still on Marik's chest. What was the symbol of Bakura's  _ba_? Birds with human heads represented the  _ba_ , but that didn't remind Marik of Bakura in the slightest. It felt like the wrong symbol. The  _ba_  was the most important part of Bakura's soul, that which gave him individuality and made him unique, but Marik couldn't think of a symbol for that. His mind instead wandered to the color of the tiles, the seasoning on the bottom of the pots, anything else.

It was because Marik was fighting the urge to block everything out and hide in the safe, black spot in his mind, and because his hands were shaking as a result, that he knocked the boiling pot of lentils off of the stove. On reflex, Marik jumped away from the scalding water, but as he did, his hand shot out and the heel of his palm hit the hot metal wrack on the gas stove. Marik's hand recoiled to his chest, but the burning sensation didn't leave; instead, it locked into his skin and the pain caused the last cords in the back of Marik's mind to snap, releasing the final blocked area of his memories. The pain in Marik's hand and the rush of memories morphed together, creating a maelstrom of rage.

"Marik?" Bakura called from the couch.

Marik screamed and swore. He smacked the tomato sauce off the stove and punched the nearest cupboard, breaking the cabinet door. With his un-burned hand, Marik grabbed Ryou's tornado glass filled with spatulas and ladles and chucked it against the wall. The utensils flew in every direction as glass shattered and rained to the floor in a glittering shower. Then Marik threw the wooden knife block and the electric can opener. The can opener smashed to pieces and the knife block cracked, knives scattering across the floor. He was in the process of kicking in the bottom cupboard doors by the time Bakura reached him, grabbing his shoulders to try and subdue him.

"Marik. Stop it now."

"No!" Marik screamed, trying to push Bakura away from him. "It fucking burns. I hate burns!"

Bakura fought to hold Marik's hand enough to examine the two blisters swelling on his red, irritated skin. "Okay, we'll put something on it. Calm down."

"It doesn't matter what you put on it – it still burns!" Marik shrieked. "Creams and salves and poultices are all bullshit. Nothing makes it better. Nothing fixes it. The knife has to be hot to help cauterize the scars or you'll bleed out. Then they keep writing and writing on you, and burning and burning you like you're a piece of leather instead of a child, and you can smell the stench of skin and blood and fat smoldering as they cut. Do you have any idea, Bakura? Any idea how bad it smells? The smell of burning flesh. But they don't stop." Marik screwed his eyes shut, teeth clenched so hard he feared chipping the enamel. "No, not they – him, him, m-my, my father. He did it. He cut me. He burned me. I cried and screamed and puked over the stone table but he wouldn't stop. And, and then – when I went outside – I came home and found Rishid. And his back, fucking blood everywhere, and that smell, all over again that smell and the blood and the knife. I tried to stop it. I ran and grabbed my father's arm to stop him from hurting Rishid anymore, but he punched me off of him and I hit the wall. Then my father cut into Rishid again. And my father's face – how did I forget the look on his face? I couldn't see his face during my initiation. I thought it'd be somber, because he had to do it, because he didn't have a choice. But when he cut Rishid his face was eager – shit." Marik rubbed his face with his free hand. "Rishid screamed and dropped to the floor and, and, and I thought he was dead." Marik used his free arm to smear the tears on his cheek, Bakura still holding Marik's damaged hand and watching Marik as he spoke.

Marik sunk to the floor and Bakura was there with him, scooping Marik in his arms and squeezing him. Marik felt warm water from the spilled lentils soak into his pants and the broken, splintered cupboard door they leaned against was splattered with tomato sauce that looked like drops of blood. Marik cried until he choked. He felt hot bile rise up his esophagus, but swallowed and forced the acidic mixture back down his throat. "He was dead and it was my fault because I wanted to go outside. He covered for me, and when we got caught, my father tortured him to death. And everything was dull brown and sick red, and the burning smell gets in your nose and you can't get it out. And my father put the knife back in the fire until it smoked from all Rishid's blood burning away, and then father turned to me with the knife and said I was next." Marik gasped, held his breath, exhaled, and continued. "I was scared. I wanted to run. Run back outside. I wanted to be outside. I didn't want to be underground. I didn't want my father to be walking towards me with a hot knife. I thought about running, but he'd grab me and drag me back underground. There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere safe." Marik's speech slowed down as he took deeper breaths. He started speaking in sentences instead of a frantic string of words. "Except in the back of my mind. There was a black space, a small space I could crawl inside and sleep and dream about being outside. I found it during my initiation and continued using it whenever I couldn't remember my lessons and my father would hit me. That's, that's why . . ." Marik blinked realizing several things at once. "That's why my alter knew things about the Winged Dragon of Ra Card that I didn't know. That's how he beat us during Battle City."

"Like you've said." Bakura ran his fingers through Marik's hair. His voice was quiet. "If we won that battle, we would have destroyed your body, so let's not worry about it."

Marik nodded, returning to his original story, answering the question that Bakura asked him months ago. "I didn't have anywhere to run, so I went to that secret space in my mind, and then I was safe. I was me, but I wasn't me, and I wasn't afraid anymore. I was angry. I was always angry, but I could never do anything about it. The one time I tried, when I was eight, my father cracked my ribs and broke an arm he beat me so bad. After that I never got angry. Until that day. He was going to cut me with the knife again. He was going to burn me until I was dead in a tomb that wasn't mine. So I laughed, and laughed, and took the rod and decided to cut him instead; cut him like he'd cut me, hurt him like he hurt me, give him a blood ritual that he didn't want like he did to me. Ishizu was screaming, but I only laughed and carved my father's skin off his back. That fucking tattoo! He was so proud of it, so I took it from him and threw it on Rishid who only ever wanted to be accepted as part of the family."

Marik leaned against Bakura and whispered. "Then Rishid woke up and I changed back to normal, but I couldn't remember anything and my father was dead. And I was so sad. I really was sad. I'm still sad. Because you still want a good father even if he's not. You still want parents you can love. And then the man I saw at the village was there, the one with the Key and Scales, and he rambled something about the will of the Pharaoh, and I misunderstood, and all the hate I should have put on my father – I put on the Pharaoh. That way I was able to pretend my father was good. I blamed the Pharaoh. I vowed revenge, but really, I just wanted to die."

Bakura swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind Marik's ear. They looked at each other. Marik blinked and looked around the destroyed kitchen. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll clean it u—"

Bakura grabbed Marik and pressed their lips together. Marik closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling of Bakura's hands on his face and lips against his. The moment somehow reminded Marik of the first time he ever experienced rain.

Twelve years old, he started a base for the first Rare Hunters in Munich with the help of Rishid. It was late and Marik went outside to stare at the lit-up city, admiring how bright a place could be, even at night. A breeze blew his hair and he felt something light and cool kiss his face. He looked down at his arms and watched small beads of water gather on his tanned skin as they fell from the sky and landed on him. He blinked, looking at Rishid for an explanation.

 _"It's Rain,"_   _he'd answered._

Marik had stuck out his tongue and licked the water from his skin. Laughing, he spread his arms out and spun and danced in the street as the rain grew heavy and soaked his clothes and hair, but he didn't care, because that night he felt free.

It was like that with Bakura now.

* * *

Bakura stood up and grabbed a clean dishcloth. He soaked it with cool water and wrapped three ice-cubes in the center, pressing the towel against Marik's burn. "Just sit there. I'll clean up."

"But—"

"Don't argue this time, Marik."

Marik blew air from his mouth, capitulating to Bakura's request. Bakura gathered the knives first, placing them into the cracked woodblock and setting it sideways on the counter; it was too damaged to sit upright. "I understand," Bakura whispered, thinking to himself more than talking to Marik as he grabbed the disassembled can opener by the cord and dropped it into the trash bin. "I mean, about the burning smell. It doesn't go away. Even if you go to the river and scrub mud into your skin and hair, as soon as you go back the ashes are still there, and the odor haunts worse than the ghosts that can't pass on because their bodies were defiled."

"Bakura."

Bakura turned to the sound of his name.

Marik watched him from his spot on the floor. "Tell me. Then we can be even."

Bakura sighed, but nodded in agreement. "This will be the first time even I've heard the full story spoken out loud, because I've never said it to anyone."

Marik gestured for Bakura to go on.

He frowned and thought about where to start. "You remember the picture of my mother, standing at the doorway and feeding Tiy?"

Marik nodded.

"It was dusk. Most of the village was outside because the weather was good. My father and his father and some of the neighbors were playing  _mehen_ , and my mother watched them from the doorway. I wanted attention, but she was nursing the baby and told me to go play ball with the other boys." A small smile took Bakura's lips. "Even then I wasn't a social person, so I sulked off to a hidden spot my friend and I, the one that starved, had discovered when we were very small. We had a collection of beetle shells there that were our 'treasure' and I arranged them in a pattern on the dirt. I was bitter because he wasn't there to play with me anymore. I heard my mother calling for me, but I was still sulking so I ignored her. It's funny. I remember her voice, and her calling me, but I can't remember what she called out, the name she used, but then she said my name and added  _son of_  followed by my father's name and I jumped to my feet. I knew better than to ignore her then."

Bakura retrieved a broom and dust pan from a small closet. He worked on the shattered glass first, the task difficult because of the pieces hidden under ladles and in corners.

Marik stood up. "Let me do it. You're going to cut your feet."

Bakura shot Marik a peeved look. "You sit back down or I'm not finishing this story."

Marik set his jaw in place, but used his good hand to hoist himself on top of the counter. "You really are a stubborn jackass, you know that?"

Bakura tossed a wooden spoon in the sink, resting one hand on his hip while the other held the broom. His expression asked Marik if he'd have it any other way. Then he fidgeted with the broom and frowned at the floor, his tone somber. "I stood up to go back home and heard the first scream. It sounded like a hyena, but then there were others, and horse hooves, and bronze striking bronze. I crept up to the edge of my hidden area in time to see a royal soldier on horseback run my grandfather into the ground. My father killed three soldiers before one caught his neck with a sword stroke." Bakura drew a line across his neck, shoulder, and chest with the broom handle. "But it wasn't a clean cut, so my father fell to the ground and twitched, kicking with his right leg even after he'd bled out. My mother dropped to the ground, curling in a ball to protect Tiy. A man on horseback punched his spear into her side and I saw the blood pour from her mouth – Tiy screaming beneath her."

Bakura kept his breath and his words steady. He didn't sob, but he felt tears rolling down his cheeks that caused his skin to itch. He focused on picking up dishes and sweeping glass and smashed lentils from the floor in order to continue talking. "Part of me wanted to stay where I was and hide. Part of me wanted to run away as far as I could. More than anything I wanted to stop it. I kept telling myself to get out there and fight, take my father's sword and kill them all for hurting my family, but what could I do? My father had been the strongest person in the world and he laid there and twitched in a puddle of mud made from his own blood. What could I do? So my legs froze and I stood there, holding the wall for support, and watched everything because I couldn't move. They built two pits of fire and divided the bodies."

Bakura paused, looking at Marik. "They didn't know, you see, didn't know if it made a difference or not what kind of sacrifice they used. I'm sure you've read, in those stupid tomes your father made you read, that Kul Elna was a thieves' village, but it was still a  _village_. As the grain dried to dust under the drought-searing sun, the men stole from dead kings to keep their children from starving in their arms because they were fathers as well as thieves. Kul Elna was home to children, and elderly, and sick, and young brides, and the Pharaoh's mages weren't sure if the strength of the sacrifice would change the outcome of the ritual, so they chose ninety-nine of the strongest villagers, like my parents, and mixed them with gold, pouring everything together and creating the Millennium Items."

" _Shit_ ," Marik swore, shutting his eyes. His skin pale like sand.

"But the rest of the villagers were dragged to the other pit. They weren't mixed with gold, merely burned. Bodies don't burn easily – too much water – so they popped and cracked. Yes, I know the smell of burnt flesh. I will never forget that smell. Every time I curse the Pharaoh I can still taste the ash of my family on my tongue, and smell them burning, with or without gold, all burning, and Tiy— Tiy was still screaming, sc-screaming. I was going to run and get her. I was bracing my legs, getting ready to spring forward, to push my hand off the wall. I didn't look at the guards, just my baby sister crying in the dirt in front of our doorway. I focused my entire world into her. I was going to grab her and run, but before I moved, a soldier grabbed her ankle and flung –  _fucking flung_  – her into the fire pit. Still. Screaming."

The world slowed down for a moment as Bakura felt himself dropping to the floor, screams still in his mind, the broom dropping out of his hand. He watched Marik fly from the counter, the impromptu ice pack falling to the floor, and flash towards him, catching him before Bakura's knees hit the ground. Bakura allowed his head to rest in the crook of Marik's neck and shoulder, and he properly cried, just as Ryou cried in the back of his mind. "I was too slow. I took too long to move. I should have saved her. Big brothers are supposed to save—" Bakura couldn't speak because the wails coming from his mouth. He gasped for air until his crying stopped and he spoke without pauses or breaks. "I passed out and when I woke up, nothing was left but ghosts and ashes. I sat there, against the wall, and watched the ghosts circle the village and wail. They were confused and hurting; their bodies had melded together in the items so their spirits were also bound in a hive-minded state. I watched them and realized I couldn't bury any of them. We built tombs for kings, gave them grand palaces for their afterlives, but how do you bury bodies burned and mixed together, no more organs, nothing left for their afterlives, no hands or mouths or eyes, just ash. I prayed to  _Anpu_ , I prayed and prayed and prayed, but no jackals visited Kul Elna after that. It was unclean. The only things I could do were vow to redress them and remember Tiy's name. I said it every night before bed even years after forgetting my own, and I hoped that it kept her from the second death."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us."  
> ~Marianne Williamson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***AN: One final thanks to SuperSteffy for beta-ing this. And now for the thrilling conclusion :P ***

It was strange. Bakura always avoided his emotions thinking they made him weak, but as he and Marik stood, Bakura could only describe the feeling in his chest as a room left closed for too long that was finally getting the windows opened to let fresh air circulate. The past still clung to them, like the smell of smoke, but Bakura realized that the feeling welling up in his chest was joy. It seemed wrong, to be happy considering their past and present circumstances, but Marik was tracing the outline of Bakura's earlobe with his fingers and brushing his nose against Bakura's cheek, and the joy he felt because of it clogged his throat and terrified him.

"You know," Marik spoke, his voice thick. "I used to think that no one in the world could possibly know suffering like I did."

Bakura snorted, retrieving the broom. They finished sweeping and mopping and cleaned the pasta sauce and lentils off of their feet. Once done, they stood and stared at one another without speaking. Marik drew close, Bakura tilting his face up to look at him. They circled each other, lips close but separated, and stopped. Then, as if choreographed, Bakura took a single step back with his left foot as Marik stepped forwards with his right. They smiled at the unplanned, synchronized movement and repeated it with their opposite sides. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow, Bakura walked backwards while Marik held his gaze and drew closer. When they stopped near the couch, Marik lifted Bakura into his arms. Bakura hooked his right leg around Marik's waist, bringing his hands up to Marik's cheeks and then sliding them down his throat and chest. Marik let Bakura drop, catching him several inches above the ground and easing him onto the carpet.

Bakura reached up to loosen the buttons on Marik's shirt – the maroon one that complimented his complexion. Slow, slow, quick-quick-quick, slow, Bakura's fingers flicked each button free. He spread his hand up Marik's chest, sliding his fingers over Marik's right shoulder and slipping the fabric away from the skin. Marik caught Bakura's hand, stopping him. He leaned down; their lips brushed together. Marik removed his hand from Bakura's and allowed Bakura to finish removing Marik's shirt.

Their fingertips graced across cheeks and lips. Bakura traced the outline of the Diabound image he'd drawn on Marik that morning, only a little smudged from sweat and daily wear. Marik traced around the Ring resting on Bakura's chest. The Ring in which Bakura was trapped; the Ring that was going to condemn them because they couldn't get his soul out of it.

"I'd rather be damned beside you than redeemed on my own," Marik whispered.

"You'll think of something last minute. I'm sure," Bakura lied.

"Of course I will. I'm Marik, fucking, Ishtar." Marik smiled, his fingers moving down below Bakura's navel.

They caressed every contour of their bodies, undoing clothes layer by layer and running their hands over one another's skin as if trying to memorize each curve, but there was no need because they already knew every single bend and turn. The more they touched, the more sensitive their skin grew, until the slightest brush of fingers or tongue caused them to quiver and moan, but they didn't progress past touching or kissing. On what they knew could be their last night together, both Marik and Bakura drew out the experience as long as possible, as if they could hold back the sun as long as they didn't finish. Then they could stay laying against the plush carpet, chests pressed together and lips hovering above each other, for eternity – their own heaven where the three of them were the only gods and there would be neither pharaohs nor subjects, good nor evil, only existing.

And that's how they made love, existing in the moment and content with it. They pressed as close as their skin allowed, held as tight as their muscles could contract. Sweat damped their skin; Marik glided his stomach against Bakura's. Because of the sweat lubricating their bodies, and the pressure of Marik's weight rubbing against Bakura's phallus, and their extended foreplay, Bakura climaxed without either of them stroking him.

Marik kissed Bakura; the saliva dripping over Bakura's tongue tasted nectar-sweet. Bakura reached up and pushed gleaming beads of sweat away from Marik's forehead. He combed his fingers through Marik's hair, also damp. Marik's pants and whimpers grew raspy and coarse. Bakura arched his back and contracted his pelvic floor muscles to send Marik over the edge. Marik cried out with a broad, rich fortissimo voice.

They entangled their bodies together in a net of limbs. Marik fell asleep as soon as he settled, and Bakura watched his resting face as he often did. He kissed Marik's forehead and stood, lifting Marik into his arms and carrying him to their bed.

* * *

When Bakura blinked opened his eyes he saw ice-white stars spilling across a jet backdrop. The air felt chilled against his skin, but comfortable. He realized that two snow-pale arms held him. "Ryou?" he whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"This isn't your soul room."

"No, it's more like a dream, but it's also a sort of memory."

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you here."

Bakura sat up a little so he could survey his surroundings. Ryou's arms stayed locked around him. He saw trees on each side of them. They sat on the ledge of a cliff in a small clearing; a sleeping bag nested around them. "Camping?"

"Yeah, when I was little my dad used to take me. Before he buried himself in his job. I wanted to see these stars one last time. I guess I wanted you to see them, too."

Bakura looked back up at the sky.

"Do you know what's stupid?" Ryou asked.

"What?"

"I'm really pissed off that we're not going to be able to finish our campaign. I mean, the three of us worked so hard on it. I was almost done writing everything."

Bakura laughed. "But we weren't sure how we were going to end it."

Ryou winked at Bakura. "Actually, I do know how I want it to end."

Bakura raised an eyebrow, staring up at Ryou. "Oh?"

"Originally, you wanted the final boss to be the Pharaoh, right?"

"Of course. I intended to use the game to destroy the Pharaoh."

Ryou nodded. "But then you decided that Zorc Necrophades should be an alternate final boss."

"Yes. I hate them both."

"Well, doesn't it make sense that the characters would have to choose? Serve the Pharaoh and fight Zorc and get rewarded as a hero. Or serve Zorc and fight the Pharaoh and rule the land as part of a dark god."

"But those were the choices before." Bakura scowled.

"Yeah, those are the choices for the noobs." Ryou winked

"Mmm, that voice. That's your  _I'm up to something sneaky_  voice. What is it?"

"New players would pick one of those two options because they're the easy ones. The ones the DM dangles in front of them, but Bakura, stop thinking about your memories and what really happened and start thinking like a gamer. Experienced players never follow the DM's intended path. We always test things out and see just how much we can get away with, right? What would you do  _now_? If you were playing this campaign, what would Thief King Bakura do to win?"

Bakura blinked, thinking. A slow, trickster smile gilded his face. "I'd pit both bosses against each other. Then both my enemies would die without me having to dirty my hands. Afterward, I'd gain double the experience points, and gather all the fucking loot my arms could carry."

Ryou laughed. "Yes. That's exactly how we'd play the game." Ryou leaned closer and sighed. "Every time I'm with you like this I notice you have a warm, dusty smell, like rocks that have absorbed the sunlight all day."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's a good smell." Ryou looked down at Bakura's face and Bakura stared up at him in return. Ryou's cheeks flared a soft, champagne pink. "It makes me want to kiss you, though."

Bakura closed his eyes and swallowed. Before he could open his eyes again, he felt Ryou's lips teasing his. Ryou still leaned over him, so their lips felt strange as Ryou kissed him upside-down. Bakura shifted a little higher so they could turn their heads and kiss properly; Ryou's tongue dabbed at the inside of Bakura's mouth.

Ryou smiled. "You know what would make this nicer?"

"Marik," Bakura answered without hesitation.

"I can feel the connection between us from when he used the Rod on me. He's dreaming." Ryou looked out at the stars and then back to Bakura. "Hey Bakura? Now that his nightmares are over, do you think if we called to him, that he'd hear us and find us?"

Bakura smirked. "I think it's worth a try."

* * *

Marik walked down the halls of the tomb, but this time he was grown. The stone walls weren't a memory but a dream. He felt calm because he knew he could finally leave. All he had to do was find the door and walk through it and he'd finally be outside where he'd always wanted to be. Time didn't flow underground, it stagnated, so Marik couldn't tell if he searched for hours or days, but the tomb was a labyrinth and Marik couldn't remember where the exit lay. He frowned, scratching markers in the stone walls so he didn't go in circles. "Hello?" Marik called out. He didn't know who he expected to answer him. He was alone.

But he did hear voices. Ryou and Bakura both calling his name. Marik's pace sped up and he traveled in the direction of their voices. The closer he got, the louder he heard them, and the faster he walked until he raced down the halls at a full sprint. He zig-zagged through the stone maze without paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't need to see where he ran; he just needed to follow the voices calling his name and using his  _ren_ to summon him _._  Turning one last, left corner, Marik reached up an arm to shield his eyes from the light pouring into the tomb through the door leading outside.

* * *

Marik opened his eyes to sunlight bathing his face from the bedroom window. He turned his head and saw Bakura sleeping. Marik smiled, remembering the previous night's dream of a forest, and starlight, and two Bakuras at once. The light from the window struck Bakura's Ring and fragments of rainbow danced across the ceiling from the refraction.

Marik's heart sank as he realized what morning meant. He jerked his head to the alarm clock on the dresser next to him. It was 7:30 in the morning; they had less than three and a half hours before the Shadow Game ended, but Marik had no clue on how to go about obtaining Bakura's soul.

"Turns out you can be quite the screamer." Bakura shifted up against his pillow in a partial sitting position. His voice sounded extra husky in the morning and, any other time, the sound would have aroused Marik to hear it.

Marik glanced at Bakura and shrugged. "Two against one is not fair odds."

"When did we ever like fair odds, Marik?"

Marik snorted, but then he sighed. "Bakura. I—"

"Don't." Bakura cut off his sentence.

Marik shook his head. "But—"

"—Stop, Marik."

"But I want to say it."

Bakura looked away. "I won't say it back."

Marik tilted his head to the side. "Do you even know what I want to say?"

"Yes I do," he said, "and I won't say it back. Not even if it's the last thirty seconds before we lose." Bakura balled his hands into fists over their salmon colored bedsheets. "I refuse to say it out of desperation or as some cheesy substitution for goodbye."

A smirk curved Marik's lips. "So you're saying, if the situation wasn't desperate, then you would say it?"

Bakura turned towards Marik and narrowed his eyes in a sultry stare. "Guess you'll never know."

"Stupid, I already know."

"Then I guess you don't need to hear me say it."

"Need and want are two different creatures entirely, Bakura."

Bakura shifted in bed so he could prop an elbow and hand behind his head. The light refracting off the polished gold of the Ring shifted and focused into Marik's eyes. Marik squinted as the flash of light blinded him. He opened his mouth to scold Bakura but an idea ignited in Marik's brain that froze his lips. The symbol that represented Bakura's identity was the Millennium Ring; it housed his soul as the doll once housed Ryou's; it represented his ties with Kul Elna, his people's bodies a part of the gold; it represented Bakura's pain; it'd been a way for Bakura to seek his vengeance.

Marik pressed his fingers to his lips, covering his wide, arrogant grin – he had won. He had won with well over three hours to spare.

"What?" Bakura asked.

Marik removed the fingers from his lips. "I love you," Marik said before Bakura could stop him.

"Damn-it, Marik. I just told you—"

He reached down and covered Bakura's mouth. "Shut-up, I'm not done." He nestled beside Bakura. "You always tell me to steal what I need, right?" He removed his hand so Bakura could answer.

Bakura gave him a confused stare. "Yeah, so?"

"Well what I need is you. So I'm stealing what I need, Bakura. If I can't get your  _ba_  out of the damned Ring, then I'll just steal the Ring and use it to transfer your soul."

Bakura sighed. "It doesn't work like that."

"Why not? Have you ever tried?"

"Of course not, I never wanted out of the Ring. I needed it for my revenge."

Marik narrowed his eyebrows. "Then don't tell me it won't work. I'm sick and tired of people telling me how things are suppose to be. If I listened to everyone else I'd still be trapped in that damn tomb instead of lying here with you, right?"

Bakura snorted, muttering, "shut up, Ryou."

Marik smirked. "He just called you a chicken, didn't he?"

Bakura clenched his jaw. "We're wasting time even having this conversation. It won't work."

"Yes it will, because I already I told you, I'm Marik, Fucking, Ishtar, and this is how I beat the game." Marik pressed his hands against the Ring, pushing it against Bakura's bare chest.

Bakura's eyes went out of focus for a moment and Marik guessed that he and Ryou argued about Marik's plan. A small, frustrated growl escaped from the back of Bakura's throat. Marik still held the Ring against Bakura's skin, but Bakura hooked his thumb under the rope securing the Ring and looped it across Marik's neck. "Fine, take the damn thing so both of you can shut-up about it."

Marik grinned because Bakura had just given him the Ring, and thus his  _ba_ , without even realizing it. With the Ring around Marik's neck and pressed against Ryou's chest, Marik felt the connection between the three of them sharper and more pronounced than he thought possible. He could even see Ryou laying beside Bakura, like a ghost overlapping his own body. Marik glanced at Ryou's wide, brown eyes; he saw the conviction Ryou felt and the pressure of that faith caused sweat to bead against Marik's temples.

There was also the other presence, sinister and familiar. The darkness that tainted every Item: the Eye in Bakura's dresser drawer, the Rod Marik used to wield, but especially the Ring he held now. Marik sucked in a breath; his chest rose and fell as he prepared himself to move Bakura's soul.

"Well?" Bakura raised an eyebrow, trying his best to look smug, but Marik saw a glint of Ryou's optimism corrupting his brown eyes.

Marik could feel Bakura's  _ba_ , like the tickle of feathers from the wings of a giant bird brushing against Marik's own soul. He attempted to shift Bakura's  _ba_ into Ryou's body, but felt resistance, as if he lifted something too heavy that wouldn't budge from the floor. He tried a second time, failing. Anger flooded into Marik's chest, the negative influence of the Ring trying to use his weakness against him. Marik wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the Ring away from Bakura and bash it against the wall. He wanted to forget about what he was doing and go to the shielded spot in his mind, inviting his alter ego back and letting everything end because that felt safer than trying and failing, than disappointing both Bakuras who depended on him to succeed. Marik swallowed, breathing heavy; he didn't let his rage control him. Instead, he took control of it, shaped it, transformed it, refocused it into determination.

That's when Zorc screamed, an almost human wail loud enough to shake the walls.

Marik felt Bakura's hand reach up to the rope around Marik's neck. Bakura rubbed his thumb against the coarse threads; his fingers twitched. Marik studied Bakura's face, saw the apprehension and knew Bakura didn't want to fail again either. Bakura would rather take the Ring back than let the hope he tried to deny die when they failed –  _again_. Marik licked his lips, trying to moisten his mouth enough to speak. "I've got you," he whispered.

Bakura closed his eyes and nodded. One hand continued to toy with the rope, the other lay on top of Marik's own hands still pressing the Ring against Ryou's body. Zorc fought them, not in a symbolic arena, but as a tangible presence throbbing in their minds. Marik ground his teeth, his jaw aching, but then another hand covered his and Bakura's; it was Ryou's hand. Ryou still looked calm, the conviction in his eyes never faltered. The serene, honest gaze reminded Marik of Yugi, and he could see how Ryou belonged in their group more than the self-imposed exile he and Bakura forced on him.

Marik used his will to push through Necrophades and seize Bakura's  _ba._ He had challenged Zorc to a simple game to determine ownership, but there was nothing simple about the amount of willpower it took for Marik to hold on to Bakura's  _ba_  and weave it together with Ryou's.

Marik ripped the Ring away from Bakura and off of his own neck. He threw it to the floor as if the gold burned. It landed near the bedroom door and Bakura jerked, as if expecting to be separated from Ryou's physical form. Marik exhaled loud and caressed Bakura's cheek. The white hair remained disheveled and the expression didn't change. Bakura gasped for air, his face as flushed as it'd been the night he'd retrieved his _ka._

Bakura started laughing, hysterical. His mess of white hair fanned out over the pillows as Bakura held his pale stomach and tilted his head back, eyes closed as he laughed.

Marik laughed with him. He tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but his arms were damp as well and he only smeared the liquid against his skin. "I told you."

"You're still an idiot," Bakura spat between fits of laughter.

"I'm the idiot who fucking won." He traced the scars on Bakura's sternum. "Well? Does it feel good? To be free of that weight around your chest?"

Bakura gasped for air as he regained his composure. He licked his lips, whispering, "Marik."

Bakura's voice, thick and sweet and coarse like honey sugared over, made the blood course quick through Marik's body. Bakura's ruffled hair and blush the color of cherry blossoms made Marik's mouth water in anticipation. He grinned at Bakura. "I did it."

"I guess you did."

Marik crawled on top of Bakura, straddling his hips and weaving his fingers with Bakura's fingers. "And now you're both mine."

Bakura tried to keep his expression neutral, but the corners of his lips tugged upward despite his efforts. "Are we? And what do you think you're going to do with us now that you supposedly have us?"

"Bakura." Marik squeezed their fingers together and leaned closer. "Do you want me?"

"Marik." Bakura paused a moment, catching his breath. " _Wehj ehn merwet tew_."

* * *

*****AN: THE END! I hope that you enjoyed this fic. Thanks for reading - reviews are appreciated.**

**You probably guessed, but if you're wondering, "** _wehj ehn merwet tew_ **" is a way to say "i love you" in Egyptian. I'm sure it's not the *most* accurate way to say it, but it's the best I was able to do with Google at the time, so let's role with it.**

**So this is done, "These fragments I have shored against my ruins" so to speak. If you're curious to what I think happens in this parallel universe I've created, I don't see the rest of the YuGiOh plot deviating a whole terribly lot from the manga ending. I put some foreshadowing in the section where Ryou and Bakura are talking about how their table top rpg will end (making Atem and Zorc basically finish each other off), and "** **That's exactly how [they'll] play the game."**

**So, in the manga Bakura gives Yugi the Eye, in this version Yugi will get the Eye and the Ring instead. Also, I still see them setting up the rpg in the museum for the last Shadow Game between the Pharaoh and Zorc – knowing the Pharaoh will probably win because it's his "destiny".**

**There's still a Zorc-corrupted fragment of Bakura's soul in the Puzzle and, just like the original manga, Yugi will have to fight, and destroy, that shadow in order to get Atem's true** **_ren/name_ ** **. But instead of Yami Bakura, in Ryou's body, playing the rpg against the Pharaoh's spirit, I *personally* like to think that without Bakura, Zorc would somehow (don't ask me how, I don't want to write anymore) possess Akhenaden's mummy and use that instead. It'd be kinda fitting. In the manga, it's implied that, originally, the Thief King gets sealed in the Ring and it's Shadow Priest Akhnenaden that truly fights the Pharaoh till he seals himself in the Puzzle. Atem would beat the Shadow Priest in the rpg pretty much the same as he beat Bakura. [Thus killing boss #1 – Zorc].**

**Then, afterward, they'd still need to have the Ceremonial Duel in Egypt, and Atem would still be trying his best to win because he doesn't want to move on to the afterlife, and Anzu, Jonouchi, et cetera, would be cheering the Pharaoh on because they don't want him to move on the the afterlife. Only, Bakura would be sitting in the back of Ryou's mind and cheering for Yugi – cheering for Yugi hard. Why? Because Atem doesn't want to leave, but if he loses he has to. If Bakura gets to stay, while Atem has to cross-over . . . well then, that would be a different sort of revenge, but one that I think Bakura would crack a grin at. Yugi wins the Duel, Bakura gets said revenge. [Thus killing boss #2 – Atem]. Don't let the door to the afterlife hit you on the way out, Atem XD**

**As for Bakura "gather[ing] all the fucking loot [his] arms could carry[?]" That could be Marik, " Marik made of gold and copper and amethyst" . . . *****

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my earlier fics from ff net, so sorry if there are typos. It was beta'd, but poor SuperSteffy couldn't catch everything (she was too busy trying to teach me not to write so many damn comma splices, lol). Feel free to mention any mistakes and I will try to fix them right away.


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